


Aucune Defense Pour Toi

by dgeheimnis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, POV Female Character, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 173,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgeheimnis/pseuds/dgeheimnis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is like death, sudden and unexpected, long and drawn out. Fleur Delacour is no expert in the ways of love, the English or Hermione Granger. But in Hermione's seventh year, the learning curve is steep. Written, with permission, as a companion piece to Dreiser's "No Defense for You" in Fleur's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love, Like Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative POV to Dreiser's "No Defense for You," which was written after GoF but before OotP. Therefore, this story is set in both Rowling's canon for the story in general and Dreiser's canon for the seventh year of Hogwarts. I would like to thank Dreiser for her continual help and support, both through our conversations and her dedication to reading the chapters as I write them. Also for always letting me know where the good shows are with angsty characters she knows I'll end up loving.
> 
> Originally posted on Livejournal starting in 2007 and then ff.net from May 5, 2008 - September 6, 2011. These chapters are slightly revised/updated from that version. 
> 
> WARNINGS: F/F, mild use of occasional profanity, minor angst, mention of abuse, and mild sexuality.

Death is sudden and unexpected. Always. A man, her uncle, was told he had six months to live when she was five years old. He said his goodbyes. His wife prepared his deathbed. But after that he continued to live (or continued to die) for ten years, somehow managing to hold on. Every night was to be his last, every morning a surprise that soon lost its novelty. And when he finally died, it was sudden. It was as unexpected as if he was crossing the street on his way to get milk and was hit by an oncoming bus. (Except that way would have been quicker and perhaps less painful in the long run.)

This is how death is. Always.

Love, like death, is sudden and unexpected. Even if you long for it as if your life depended on it (and, believe me, sometimes it does) and even if you wish for it every night before you go to sleep, it will catch you off guard and envelope you. There is no adequate forewarning for love. Like death, one will fight it, dance around it or outright ignore it. (Arguably, unlike death, escape is possible.) Even so, love is often an oncoming bus. It hurts like hell.

She was seventeen when she fell in love. It was like stumbling in front oncoming bus in an express lane; and it was like waiting ten years to die. Love, like death, has the amazing ability of being sudden and taking forever.

* * *

When Fleur Delacour was a child, she made foolish assumptions about love. Short of experience, she had wonder and the unwavering belief that she was destined for a modern day French prince. To her, love was an older, taller man with dark hair, blue eyes, a hairless chest (for some reason, this was important) and a kind smile. He would be the right kind of handsome, funny, and intelligent. It was in her nature to believe this. As a veela, it was her culture, her very being.

Love. As a veela…

When Fleur was a child, she asked her mother about love. She told her firstborn that as veelas, "we fall in love on first sight" (and in between the lines she said we fall hard…) "and only once" (… for life, so damn our souls, requited or unrequited). She did not explain the courtship ritual and when she did, Fleur was far too charming and beautiful to heed any warnings about the sickness and death that would ensue from unrequited love, from a failure to do the ritual.

What problems would she have? None. She believed this. Mostly.

But her last year of school was hell. Why did she ever choose to leave France to go to cold, wet England to compete in the Triwizard Cup? (Glory. Fame. Pride.) Her performance was, at best, unmemorable and disappointing. But the Cup ended in travesty. Maybe it was best not to be remembered like Cedric. After all, in death, how long would he truly be remembered? She would never be remembered like Viktor, who was famous already (Bulgarians). Nor would Fleur trade with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who became the laughing stock of the Wizarding World for a year. No. Fleur had only wanted to be remembered because she did well, remembered for her skill and worth as a witch. Not for being pretty. Her unmemorable, poor performance ate away at her that same summer after the tournament. At times, when no one else is looking, it still does. She could have done better.

Her miserable year in England. At times she felt like she hated that country more than she hated that tournament. This hatred, which was all inclusive of everything English from its food to its weather, began on her first night there.

Her first night there she found a reason never to leave.

It was raining. At least, she thinks it was raining. In her mind, it rains in England more than it really does. She knows this. In her memory, the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall stormed overhead and crowds of eyes locked onto her blonde, beautiful figure with purpose, with lust, with a parody of love. She was used to this; she was attractive, she was beautiful, and she was part veela.

She was not, however, used to falling in love. Her eyes locked on the smiling figure and knew that all was lost. That all was won. Until that moment, she had found people attractive purely in a theoretical, distant sort of way. An amusement. An observation. An appreciation. And now?

And now her heart stopped as her eyes lingered. When her heart began again, it beat a different rhythm, forever changed in that one instant. It was a strange, indescribable feeling. It felt right, but in that moment it did not necessarily feel good.

Shock. Surprise. Stunned, not stunning. The person before her was by most vocabularies little, young, and by all vocabularies female. A little girl. She had imagined, always hoped… older, taller, male. She had feared, known that this would happen.

When she looked at this girl, she knew.

She wanted to know what lay beyond the ignored perfume of natural beauty. In the folly of youth, the younger girl's natural charms seemed hidden behind and overwhelmed by brown, bushy hair among other features and faux pas. (Fleur wanted to reach out and tuck the offending hair gently aside.) However, it was the glow in the girl's eyes, a curiosity, a hunger, a passion, a... a something. Fleur couldn't put her finger on it, but she wanted to touch it whatever it was and hold it in her hands forever. It was in her eyes.

The eyes of a girl who was barely entering puberty. By Fleur's quick guess, the girl was fourteen at most. And Fleur, who was so thoroughly fixated on this girl's mouth, her lips, and by thoughts of the softness of her skin and the sound of this young girls voice… Fleur was seventeen. Seventeen and (victoriously) just emerging from puberty. Those three years seemed like decades apart.

Fleur froze in her seat, staring.

"If you're wondering, that is Harry Potter," a small boy sitting near her spoke with his mouth half full of offensive English food, breaking her reverie.

"Hm?" Fleur tore her eyes momentarily away from the brunette. As she returned her attention back towards the other girl, she found Harry Potter easily. He was sitting right next to her. They were talking in fact. Her nose scrunched in playful disgust at something he said. Perhaps they were friends. That was to the only extent that Harry interested Fleur.

"Ah, oui." She smiled and the boy blushed, finally swallowing the food in his mouth. Why couldn't the English be more like the French?

When she looked across the room at the other girl, she wanted to touch. To kiss. To meet.

She bravely crossed the distance between their two tables. Bravely she asked the general area for a nearby dish. She returned victorious. With the dish. Food first. Love later. She had time. She was young. And the other girl? Even younger.

* * *

It became a habit of Fleur's, as the school year progressed, to position herself within sight lines of the Gryffindor table to observe her, to find out something more. By the First Task that she learned her name. Hermione Granger. Beautiful, exotic; ordinary. English. She learned little else about the other girl. She was smart and spent a lot of time in library. (Common knowledge. Viktor followed her there.) She knew what classes Hermione had, or at least which ones she mentioned most as meal times. Fleur knew which house she lived in, who her best friends were, and what Hermione ate for most meals. She did not know her favorite color, her dreams, her pet peeves, why her eyes had that undeniable… something.

But Viktor Krum did and she hated him for it. She hated him for taking Hermione to the Ball, for being male and able to easily navigate a way to Hermione's affections. She hated him because he made Hermione smile when Fleur was still too shy to approach. (Shy? A veela!) He knew what it was like to hold her body when Fleur could only trace outlines with her eyes. He had tasted her, had kissed her when Fleur could only imagine, fantasize. To Viktor, their age difference did not matter. Bulgarians.

He took her to the Ball.

It was only in the briefest of moments when Hermione's eyes met Fleur's. Realistically the rest of the world did not melt away, but Fleur wished it had. It was still there but it had stopped mattering. A new song began and Hermione's attention returned back to Viktor, a smile forming on her lips. Fleur closed her eyes and exhaled, looked at her date briefly before finding Hermione in the crowd once again. Hermione was laughing at something Krum had said.

* * *

It was around Christmas that she begun notice she was falling ill. There was a weakness that started to nestle in her bones, an unshakeable fatigue becoming too familiar with her muscles. Unaware of (or ignoring) what was going on, she went undiagnosed and untreated for the entirety of her time in England. Obscured by grief over Cedric's death, it was deep into the summer before anyone realized what was going on and what had truly happened in England.

Before returning to France, she sought out Harry (when he was with Hermione). She told him (them, her) that she was going to improve her English. Her eyes searched out Hermione's, hoping for a flicker of what had occurred at the ball, but Hermione's did not find hers. Fleur turned and left.

Never mind the truth that she was fluent. Her thick French accent? An amusement. A trick up her sleeve. Perhaps even an attempt to seem somehow more mysterious, attractive. A teenage rebellion against being in a country she hated. But, in the end, who knows why we lie?

* * *

Three years since her first appearance Fleur was back at Hogwarts pressing her ears up against the door to her Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was her first day, her first lesson. She had changed her outfit several times, reviewed her lesson plans thoroughly, and now all that was left was to breathe deeply. Her palms were sweating, her heart was pounding, and she was spying on her students through the door.

"I reckon it's someone we never heard of." A male voice came from the other end of the door. "Tried to get McGonagall to tell us but she wouldn't hear of it."

"Of course not." It was a serious, playful tone, a familiar female voice though it had aged by a few years. Fleur's heart nearly stopped. "She has far better things to think about."

"You're just as curious as we are, Hermione." Harry Potter. Was he still little? Was she? How had time stayed still at Hogwarts, how had time betrayed its presence?

"Maybe…" Hermione's voice came again.

Fleur closed her eyes, exhaled and steadied herself. She opened the door and entered her classroom in one smooth, fluid movement. Her eyes scanned the room of gaping faces, first finding the redhead Ron (he was related to a man she had a passionless situation with the year before when she had been lonely and he had been attractive) and then Harry. Her eyes quickly grazed over the two boys to find Hermione. No longer was she the bushy haired fourteen year-old. Gone was the girl oblivious to her natural charms. Hermione had grown up beautifully. She was stunning, striking in form-fitting robes. Striking as she scowled at Fleur, who smiled back in return.

"Bonjour. I am Professor Delacour but please call me Fleur. We are all going to be good friends, hm?" She had poise, she had grace, and inwardly her legs were fighting not to visibly tremble and give way beneath her.

Fleur smiled winningly throughout the lesson like she had learned to do years ago. She continued on as if she did not see the deepening scowl or if she did, that it did not affect her. (Lies.)


	2. Scowl & Sneer

Fleur sat on a table wearing her cream colored slip and an unreadable expression as she patiently observed Madam Pomfrey's ministrations. Her dress lay neatly folded over the back of a nearby chair with her shoes were placed underneath in an orderly fashion. She was patiently waiting to get used to the older woman's cold fingertips on her body.

"How was your first day?" Pomfrey had taken a liking to the French woman, though she did find that Fleur was sometimes rather… French. "Lift up your arms please."

Fleur shrugged noncommittally as she lifted up her arms.

"The first day is always hard. Drop your arms and-…" Fleur robotically dropped her arm before Pomfrey had finished her request and lay down on the table anticipating her next command. The routine of her examinations was something she knew by rote. She could go through the motions with her eyes closed, and often she did.

"It is simply that…" Fleur sighed. Pomfrey's hands never seemed to warm up. "She scowled." Fleur frowned. "She scowled." (Pause. A beat. A beating.) "At me."

Pomfrey nodded as she quietly squeezed Fleur's. "You just have to be more patient. Hermione's…." Stepping back, Pomfrey shook her head. She had no doubt in her mind that Hermione had a tendency towards the female persuasion. "Stubborn and still young. You're all done for the day."

Fleur stood up gracefully and began to dress, but no amount of natural grace could hide the mechanical nature of her movements.

"Your body is exhausted, Fleur. Be careful to not overexert yourself."

Fleur nodded but she was only half listening as she buttoned up the back of her dress.

"Fleur, this is your health. It's important."

Again Fleur nodded. Again with lackluster, but she caught Pomfrey's eye and smiled sheepishly. "I know. It simply becomes… boring after awhile I suppose."

"Fleur, it's a blessing your health has been stable for so long. Not boring. With any hope…" Whatever the older woman was about to say, she held it back when she saw Fleur's facial expression. (Don't say it.) "You have to remember that this is only your first day and you have to be patient. Don't overexert yourself trying to rush things. Take care of yourself. It will work out. What will be will be."

"Que sera, sera." Because Fleur was bending down to fasten her shoes, Pomfrey did not catch the Frenchwoman's eye roll. "Yes, I know. Patience in all things." (Patience in one thing.)

"And your daily potion."

With a sigh, Fleur stood up and picked up the freshly brewed potion on the nearby table. In one fluid, practiced movement she effortlessly swallowed the contents of the glass. Her face contorted with disgust, nearly gagging for a moment so brief before returning to her normal serene expression one might doubt that it actually occurred. (It did.) Fully recovered, she casually remarked, "You'd think I'd be used to the taste… Ah well. Maybe tomorrow?" She placed the empty glass down, her fingers lingering on the familiarity of the glass. (She had time. Right?)

"There is always tomorrow," Pomfrey smiled.

"Same time, same place?" She grinned, almost flirtatiously, to which Pomfrey only nodded. The sick needed their pride, their jokes, their defenses.

"And maybe tomorrow you'll slip a little mint in," Fleur winked as she turned to walk out of the room.

"And ruin the integrity of the potion? Certainly not."

"Cherry flavoring then perhaps? Cherry is a virtuous flavor and does no harm to anyone's integrity." Fleur closed the door behind her, not waiting for the response.

* * *

Growing up, Fleur had never wanted to be a professor. The focus of her studies was Defense Against the Dark Arts, true, but she did not want to teach it. She wanted to  _do_  it. She had worked undercover at Gringotts Bank for the Ministry of Magic monitoring sensitive accounts and the general goblin population. (Outside those who knew in the Ministry, she was a pretty French girl who took the job to "eemprove 'er English.") Perhaps not her dream job, but a decent start nonetheless. And her next job at Hogwarts?

Fleur was by far the youngest professor on staff. In fact, one of the professors had apparently died at what appeared to be a very ripe old age and still refused to retire. Yet despite her youth, she still managed to have more credentials than some who had held the position before her. To her credit she even seemed to have a natural talent and a surprisingly sincere interest in teaching.

Everyone seemed to recognized Fleur's worth as a professor except to Hermione, the one person who mattered. The girl only continued to scowl. While other professors complained about Hermione constant hand raising, Fleur could barely get Hermione to look at her, let alone raise her hand. Of course, the rest of the class was ready to fill in for Hermione, even when they didn't know the answer. And every day Hermione made a quick exit while Fleur was swarmed by her over exuberant (hormonal) students.

* * *

Fleur was on Snape's long list of things that he hated immensely (and reciprocally he was on her long list of things she hated about England). One day, when he found reason to, he entered her office unannounced, unwelcome and without knocking. There he found Fleur finishing up on her lesson plan for the first year's double period.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She leaned across her desk not at all looking pleased at her unwanted intruder.

"A message from Dumbledore," he sneered and tossed the message on her desk.

"Thank you." Her eyes did not linger on the message, locked on the man who continued to stand there in her office unwelcome. "Can I help you?"

"How are your classes proceeding?"

Fleur's eye arched up suspiciously. "Quite well, thank you. Now if you will excuse me." She motioned towards the door, a gesture he openly ignored. "I am on my way out." 

"No problems with behavior? Or your… heritage?" He spoke slowly, drawing out his words carefully.

"I do not believe that my being French really has a negative impact on my classroom." She smiled coldly at his sneer as she began to pack up her things. "But if you are rudely referring to another part of my  _heritage_ , think of it as guarantee that they will pay attention. Now, if you will excuse me I am, as I said before, on my way out." Standing up, she began to pack her bag, hoping to further emphasize her point.

"Even Ms. Granger?"

"Out." She pointed to the door. "Out now."

Looking away, she did not watch him finally make his exit. He had hit a nerve and she had let him know. Stupid. Stupid. (How did he know?)

* * *

Fleur used the incident in her office it as an excuse to explore the castle to find new, harder to find places to construct her lesson plans and grade work. Several nights in a row, however, the activity grew tiresome and Fleur found herself migrating towards the library. Perhaps she was in luck, or out of luck, as she had barely entered before spotting Hermione surrounded by a large pile of books. In a surprisingly typical student fashion, however, Hermione was staring up at the ceiling absentmindedly. Completely unaware of Fleur, the girl's face was relaxed and scowl-free. Seeing Hermione like this made Fleur smile. She couldn't help approaching, but the scowl returned the moment Hermione saw her.

"That is not a face becoming of a lady." Fleur sat down next to Hermione in one smooth motion. Hoping to look casual, she picked up one of the books from the pile, a recent copy of  _Magic of Foreign Institutes_  and started to flip through it. "So you are keeping yourself busy, I see."

Fleur found herself being examined by a studied, narrow glance.

"Why are you here?"

"What? The library?" Fleur smiled as charmingly as she could muster in front of the impenetrable scowl. "I myself enjoy reading, Mademoiselle Granger. Surprising, is it not?"

"Right. Now try really answering my question." The girl looked at her seriously, her tone sharp, cutting straight through Fleur.

"No sense of humor. I am here to teach, of course." Barely able to hide her sadness, she began to tap her painted nails lightly on the table. They were a color perfectly suited to bring out the blue in her eyes, not that Hermione would notice. "Why else would I be here, hm?"

"Why Hogwarts? Why not teach at Beauxbatons? That's your school." The girl was relentless as she was blunt and beautiful.

Fleur laughed softly. Why indeed? She drawled her words slowly. "Would you believe me if I said it was nothing more than a friendly foreign exchange?" She took Hermione's narrowing dark eyes as a sign that no, no Hermione did not. Feigning great exasperation, Fleur continued. "Non? Very well then, I suppose I will have to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

Fleur leaned in closer, dramatically. At this (lack of) distance she could… But no. "Professor Grubbly-Plank-… "

"Yes…?"

"… is teaching at Beauxbatons. We had need of a new Care for Magical Creatures teacher and you?" Her eyes twinkled, relishing in the close contact, and she laughed softly from their proximity alone. Their faces were now only inches apart. It would be so easy to… if she just leaned in a bit more… but kissing one's student in the library was strictly prohibited, both by the librarian and the student in question. "Well," she paused to push some hair away from her face (wishing instead she could tuck those loose strands of Hermione's hair behind her ear). "Hogwarts is always in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts expert, are they not?" This was the official story; the real reason was a bit more… scandalous.

"Very funny." The younger girl glared, as she stood up exasperated. "I'm going to find out why you're really here. Mark my words."

Fleur watched Hermione's exit, a smile encroaching upon her features as she enjoyed every swing of the Hermione's hips.

After Hermione left, Fleur casually sifted through the books Hermione had left behind. Most appeared to about foreign educational institutions, many having pages open about Beauxbatons. The one that caught Fleur's attention, however, was a fairly new book about the most recent Triwizard Cup. Fleur was familiar with the text. What fascinated her was that it left open to one of the few pages about her. Fleur watched the photo of herself smile. For a moment she stared, examining her younger self before silently mouthing the words soon and smiling back. 


	3. History and Habits of the Veela

Unfortunately Hermione's interest in Fleur as research material did not extend beyond the library into real life. While most of Hermione's peers pined over Fleur and Fleur pined over Hermione, Hermione occupied her Defense Against the Arts lessons alternating between staring vacantly out the window and glaring at Fleur.

As time progressed, Fleur became a connoisseur of the brunette's least attractive (but altogether far too common) facial expressions. She lovingly gave them each names and flavors. There was the default vanilla scowl, peppermint for the displeasure at Fleur's unexpected appearance, and cinnamon for when Fleur caught Hermione off guard. The glower when someone sighed at Fleur during class? That was dark chocolate. There were raspberry facial contortions when Fleur called on her in class. This one was a fairly regular sight because Fleur could not help but to call on Hermione who refused to raise her hand. (Somehow the jokes Fleur made quietly to her self never really helped in the end.)

Fleur was silently redressing after her check-up as Pomfrey set about tidying the examining room. Pomfrey had other things to bustle to and attend to, but the older woman was curious and broached the silence.

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?" Fleur did not try to hide her confusion.

"To know, just  _know_  on sight and yet not know if it is going to work out."

Fleur had learned not to think about the answer. There was no other option but for it to work out. End of story. All she could respond with was an uncomfortable smile.

"Your condition…" Pomfrey changed her tactic suddenly with hesitant words. "At best, in books it's vague and mysterious. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be treating."

Fleur finished zipping up her dress, taking her time before answering the question. Her smile slowly moved away from its uncomfortable beginnings. "Well…" And then she paused again, trying to figure out how to word it properly.

* * *

 A kindly old voice tapped Fleur on her shoulder as she headed home. "Your condition has prevented you from fully exploring our grounds, I believe."

"I… yes, I suppose so." Fleur turned around, caught off guard by Dumbledore's sudden presence in the hallway.

"A little nature can do wonders for one's health." He smiled warmly, motioning her to follow him. "I find it can calm the mind of worry."

Without another word, Dumbledore began to lead the compliant French woman around the school grounds. As the tour progressed, Fleur found herself becoming increasingly restless. It felt, in way, like she was wasting this rare moment alone with the headmaster. Not that she did not find the anecdotal landscaping decisions of the founders fascinating; she simply had other, more pressing issues to attend to.

"Dumbledore, I—" She interrupted.

"There is a nice spot near the lake." He interrupted her interruption. "Very beautiful, that few know about. As it is, one can be there for hours and never be disturbed. It would be a shame for you not to see it."

Fleur understood his words and followed patiently. Soon the path led them into the woods towards the lake, farther and farther from the main part of the school. Abruptly Dumbledore stopped in front of a small clearing revealing a majestic view of the lake and the surrounding region. Another small piece of England she could not hate (the count was now up to two). Before Fleur could find her voice, Dumbledore spoke.

"How are things developing, Miss Delacour?" His tone was kind, almost fatherly. Fleur leaned up against at tree before she responded.

"Not so well as I had hoped," her voice was laced with sadness and exhaustion. "I think it a mistake, accepting this job. I am very grateful to you, of course, Headmaster, for giving me such a chance but I do not think it will work out for me. I should return to Philippe and the others. He told me this was a bad idea."

Philippe. Until that instant, she had nearly forgotten her close friend that she had worked with at Gringotts. They had not parted on good terms. He thought that her leaving to teach 'hormonal idiots' was an insult to her skills and talent. In his opinion, she was degrading herself by 'chasing after some young English brat.' He had warned her it was a mistake. (He was also horrible at sharing.) She had not heeded his warnings.

"Now, now, I don't think you should be so hasty. After all, wasn't this what you had expected? What even brought you here in the first place?" As if reflecting on the answer, he paused for a moment before continuing. "I've heard of all the difficulties you can find in your searching. If you truly believe that yours came to an end years ago, why bother denying it and causing yourself pain?"

"Because it is a pain I know. It is a familiar friend that is nothing when I compare it to what I deal with now. I think my life before was much better." Emotion cracked through the composure of her voice. At times, she had wished that it was not Hermione who… But it was foolishness. In the end, it was Hermione and she did not want to love anyone else. (And yet she felt like a fool for feeling this way.)

"Better or easier?" Dumbledore shook his head and began to walk on. Leaves cracked beneath his step and not for the first time Fleur wondered if Dumbledore had ever fallen in love. "Miss Granger is the stubborn sort. Just give her more time."

(Ms. Granger, who was holding her breath hidden behind a nearby tree. Ms. Granger, who had escaped the grounds for some peace and quiet, who did not budge an inch for fear of being discovered. Ms. Granger, who overheard everything.)

"But I do not have much." She sighed deeply and her words were soft and exhausted as she began to follow him back.

* * *

The next day Fleur was clueless as to why the brunette's scowls were accented with suspicious looks. At least Hermione was looking at her now. Where once wonder of love had invigorated Fleur, she now found herself increasingly more exhausted by the realities of it. And restless. Restless from inactivity, from failure by default of doing nothing. Time to move forward. Now.

"Mademoiselle Granger? A moment please?"

The brunette froze mid-hasty exit at the end of class and sighed deeply as she turned around. In less than a second, she was impatiently waiting for Fleur to quickly escort her confused and envious admirers out of the classroom.

"Well then, we are finally alone." Fleur smiled as she closed the door a few moments later behind the last person. "You are wondering why I have asked you to stay after, hm?"

"Yes."

"Always so suspicious. It bothers me you feel that way." Try though she might, sadness slipped past her teeth out into the open air for Hermione to scowl at.

"Fleur?" Madam Pomfrey's sudden arrival was an attack on Fleur's moment of bravery. "I have your daily dose." Damn Pomfrey for caring about her health. Damn Pomfrey for being so obviously and joyously surprised at Hermione's disgruntled presence. "You have to take it now, then we're having a check up today. No dilly dallying or avoiding it. You know it's needed." Damn Pomfrey for not thinking to reschedule.

It was the first time Hermione saw Fleur scowling. Her scowl, however, turned quickly into a sigh.

"Yes." Damn her saying yes. Fleur paused by Hermione on her way out. "I will return shortly. Wait for me?"

Her request was met with a stiff nod.

* * *

Once in the hospital wing, Fleur took her dose and looked skeptically on as Pomfrey prodded.

"So you were talking to Granger." Pomfrey tried not to look too hopeful as she proceeded to examine Fleur.

"About to. You interrupted."

"You have an appointment and poor planning skills. What were you going to say?" Pomfrey was unphased as she continued her ministrations.

"Maybe if you flavored my potion, I would not try to get out of it." Fleur cut her playful tone short with a shrug, "The truth, I imagine."

"Is it your veela charm or being French that makes you such a diehard romantic," Pomfrey teased.

Fleur tapped her foot impatiently. "A mystery of the world, I suppose."

* * *

Fleur almost ran back to her classroom after her check up, weaving around the crowds and nearly stumbling over herself on several occasions.

"Where is the fire?" McGonagall scolded as Fleur rushed past.

My heart, Fleur thought, the fire is in my heart.

Fleur outside the door, hoping to catch her breath, when she heard Hermione's sharp tone from the other side. "Her kind?"

"Veelas." Snape growled. (Of course.) And Fleur once again found herself eavesdropping on her own classroom as Snape continued to speak. "What sort of creature seek out and wish to spend their lives with those who hate them most?" He paused, and Fleur could almost imagine his sneer-like smile. "Oh, I see, you haven't any idea why she's interested in you, do you?"

Fleur flung open the door before he could say anymore. "Monsieur Snape, do you have a reason for being in my classroom, speaking about me to Mademoiselle Granger, or is it just your impeccable manners rising to the surface once again?"

Snape turned around and thrust a sealed parchment at her. "From Dumbledore. Asked me to give it to you."

"Oh?" She snatched up the message. Quickly opening and reading it, she let out a chuckle. Her anger dissipated at reading the forgotten punchline to a joke from yesterday along with a few quick notes to consider for the upcoming staff meeting. She waved her hand carelessly at the Potion's professor. "You may go."

The amusement clung to her for a moment longer as he stormed out of the room.

"I think," she turned towards Hermione after Snape left, "he may dislike me more than you do, hm? Be careful or he may steal your job."

Hermione stammered and stuttered flustered by Fleur's directness. "I don't… I mean…"

Fleur waved her hand carelessly again, as if with such a simple gesture she could bid farewell to whatever ailed her. "It is fine. I am not so big headed as to think that everyone must like me. In fact it is because you do not that you are so important to me." Embarrassed, she smiled slightly.

A moment passed before Hermione replied, cautiously. "Snape said you're interested in me because you're veela."

Fleur looked at Hermione for a moment and then sighed. There was no way around that version of the facts. "Yes. That is true, I suppose."

"Why is that?" The younger girl's tone softened while remaining relentlessly curious.

Fleur suddenly was at a loss for where and how to begin. Or how to continue once she found a starting point. The fire in her heart seemed to consume her mouth turning her tongue to ash and rendering her speechless. There was no way she could begin, no way to find the words, let alone speak them. So instead she moved towards her desk and sifted through her leather satchel (a present from Philippe) and retrieved a large, worn and tattered book,  _History and Habits of the Veela_. It had been passed down for generations in her family and now she gave it to Hermione.

"You like to read, no? I think you'll find the answers to all your questions in that book. If you are not frightened by what you read…" She looked at the girl she loved dearly searching for some response before finishing in a much quieter, subdued tone. "Come and find me." Then there was nothing left for Fleur to say. She gathered up the last of her possessions and left the classroom without another word.

* * *

It was a nearly a week before Pomfrey followed up on her question about what it was that really happening to Fleur.

Again, Fleur took her time in answering the question as she examined her reflection in the glass of the potions cabinet. Fleur looked older than she pictured herself in her mind, aged but not quite distinguished. She could feel Pomfrey's patient gaze as she straightened her dress and fussed with a few stray hairs, trying to find her youth in gestures. When she spoke again it was in a quiet, slow voice.

"We have a name for it in Veela, but it does not hold up to translation. While it is not entirely similar, it does bare resemblance to a Muggle condition known as stress cardiomyopathy. The more common name, if I can recall correctly, is broken heart syndrome. …Or is it broken heart disease? I can't remember. It is all very melodramatic. Muggles have such silly names for things, non?" Fleur waved her hand casually. (She did though. She did remember.) "There are some differences to be sure, but the overall effect is the same in the end if one is not careful."


	4. You Are Mistaken

Doubt crept up, set in, and clung stubbornly to Fleur's elbows and knees. After lending Hermione  _History and Habits of the Veela,_  anxiety became her constant shadow. The fear and unknowing ate away at her skin, muscles, and bones.

She had waited for so long. Patience in all things. No. Years of patience in one thing. One thing. 

And she had been patient, a perfect gentleman even as she waited for Hermione to grow up. (She was scared and hesitant.) Now Hermione had grown up, exuded a unique sex appeal and had the taste of Viktor Krum (and perhaps others) lingering (freshly) on her lips. He had not waited; he had pounced. Bulgarians.

Where did that leave her? For all Fleur's beauty and charm, she was also fatally shy. In a moment of either strength or weakness, she had owled Dumbledore over the summer. At a loss and needing to take action, she had written asking for help and advice and he had replied with a job offer. A week later, she accepted. What else could she do? Hogwarts always needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and she? She needed Hermione.

Now in the stone hallways of the school, it seemed so wrong to love her student. But wasn't it Dumbledore's idea? His. Not hers. His. But her love. Her need. Her agreement. Her predicament. Hers, not his. Hers.

Every time Fleur tried to make a move, she was struck dumb by Hermione's beauty and displeasure. She was rendered silent because there was no way, in the end, to politely say I have loved you since you were fourteen, I can love no other; I came to Hogwarts in hopes that you would fall in love with me, to be with you; would you like go out to dinner with me? (Marry me was much too forward.)

Forward. It was time to move forward.

But the stress and anxiety of finally taking that step, of handing over the book and waiting for a response that might never come or would never come the way she hoped had the negative effect of fast-forwarding her symptoms.

Confined to the hospital wing by her weakness to Madam Pomfrey and her careful ministrations, Fleur missed a full day of classes. Nothing moved forward in the hospital wing, a place of stasis. Anxiety curled up next to her on the infirmary bed, nibbling and gnawing away. Had Hermione read the book, would she read it? And then what?

With no true distraction, the thoughts plagued and circled her mind. Fleur needed to move, needed to leave the hospital wing. She had her pride even if she didn't have her health. She wanted to leave. She should be able to control this in the very least.

But Pomfrey thought forward lay in another way. Forward to recovery, to health by resting, by calm ministrations with cold hands. In the end, they both wanted the same thing but through different means. Still, Fleur stood up and began to walk out.

"Fleur, you should not be walking around. You are not well." Pomfrey's voice was calm and kind, but exhausted. Exhausted like Fleur.

"It will be over shortly."

"Exactly. Stay here and rest so it  _will_  be over shortly. Another day at least. Just one, Fleur. Please."

"Impossible. I have already missed one day of classes, Madame Pomfrey. I will not miss more. It is foolishness."

"It's your health Fleur!" Pomfrey's calmness slipped away. Whatever happened yesterday had dangerously drained Fleur. She needed to recover and not go gallivanting around the school exacerbating matters. "I know you're trying to resolve the situation on your own but really… this isn't wise at all. You're only causing yourself to become more ill."

"I am leaving." Fleur's voice trembled with determination while knowing that Pomfrey was probably right. "It is fine. All will be well… I promise."

"Fleur…."

"Yes?" She cut the woman off, softly sighing and trying not to lean on the door for support. She wanted to go home. To her own bed. Where she could be weak in private. Where she could hide behind the stories in the books on her bed stand.

"Your potion."

Pausing and smiling slightly, she moved towards the older woman and reached out for the potion. "Merci."

Her face contorted with momentary disgust as she swallowed it (the bracing before never was enough). She made no comment, no joke. Instead she turned and left. At that moment she resented the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey, and everything that showed her that yes, yes she was weak.

As she opened the door a scurrying motion caught her eye. Her lips curled up at the tips as her eyes rested on the knight statue's ill matching shadow. It was a pained and worried smile on her face that stubbornly tried to be amused.

"Hiding? I am not that frightening, surely." She was the lesbian veela professor. A monster. Truly.

Sheepishly, Hermione emerged. For a moment they just looked at each other, Hermione embarrassed, Fleur exhausted and sad.

"I read the book. I wanted to talk with you about it." Always blunt and to the point.

Holding back a comment about whether the girl always hid from people she wanted to talk to, Fleur merely nodded. "I had thought you might."

She moved toward the door, lacking her natural grace of movement. "Come, we should discuss this somewhere more private, non?" Her eyes glanced backwards to both where she assumed Madame Pomfrey was standing and where she had smelled the distinct smell of the potions basement. "Where we will be alone."

They walked to Fleur's house side by side in silence. Hermione, not knowing what to say, wrung her hands as she walked ever so slightly behind Fleur. Far too exhausted to try to start a normal conversation while walking, Fleur focused on trying to figure out what she would say once they arrived. Fleur's exhaustion gave way to nerves the closer they approached. By the time they reached her house, she felt entirely self-conscious and embarrassed by her home. It was evident by Hermione's face that this was somehow not what Hermione had expected. Fleur did not know if this was good or not.

"A replica of my family's summer house. It is a simple spell to perform. Certainly you could," she smiled explaining.

And with that, she opened the door and hoped Hermione would follow. (She did.) Slipping off her coat, she handed it to her coat rack Goldie. "Merci Goldie." The excited Goldie took it with a coat rack version of thumbs up. In that moment, her enthusiastic coat rack was embarrassing. (And who names their coat racks?) 

Hermione, following the same ritual with her coat, hesitantly followed Fleur further into the house.

"Would you like to have our chat in the parlor? I think it the most comfortable room in the house." She used the word chat purposefully. It seemed more… casual. As if they were going to discuss fashion, music, or an upcoming paper. Even politics sounded like a lighter conversational topic.

"That's fine."

Fleur watched Hermione as she examined her home. What sort of judgments was she making? Fleur could not begin to fathom. At least Hermione was not scowling.

No. Definitely not scowling, but openly exploring with her eyes. The brunette appeared to be trying to read her house like a book looking for the answer (answer to what? To her?). Her eyes flickered from the fireplace to the family portraits, lingering on the one with Fleur and her immediate family. It was only through the eyes of others that Fleur realized how similar her family looked. Except for her father, her immediate family all looked distinctly veela with silvery blonde hair and blue eyes. Her father smiled warmly at Hermione, her mother stared cautiously with a polite smile, and Fleur wore her usual glittering smile (of course). Her sister Gabrielle, however, stuck her tongue out at and turned her back on Hermione.

"My sister, Gabrielle… she is a bit…" Fleur pushed back a small a smile as she searched for the words to describe her beloved little sister, "…protective of me." Badly needing to sit down, Fleur moved to the couch.

"She seems nice."

Chuckling at this, Fleur shook her head. "I love her, my sister, but she can be something of a trial." She paused, suddenly missing her family very much. Until Hermione, even with Hermione, Gabrielle was very much her world. "In fact, she is one almost all of the time. Still family is family," she returned to the task at hand, Hermione, and patted the couch cushion next to her. "Will you sit? You make me nervous, standing there."

Hermione jumped and apologized before sitting down. Fleur was well aware of the safe distance Hermione placed between the two of them.

"So… the book." Hermione started, her tone nervous, cautious.

Sighing, Fleur wished that for once Hermione wasn't so painfully blunt, so tragically straight to the point. (If Hermione was straight…) "Yes. That is why we are here, is it not? Well then… you've read it so surely you must have questions for me." She spoke cautiously, feeling awkward and strangely like her own lesson plan, one that she was uncharacteristically not adequately prepared for.

"Am I the reason you're sick? Because if I am then I want to help you. Even though I'm not sure how I can help. I did read the book but a lot of it was confusing and-" Hermione's words flooded so fast from her mouth that Fleur was hard-pressed to catch them all as they tumbled out. Phrases like 'I want to help you' threatened to slip through her fingertips and she wanted to hold onto them for the time being at least.

"Mademoiselle Granger," Fleur held up her hand, interrupting the girl's quick words with a smile. She wanted to call her Hermione. The other girl was seemingly just as nervous and Fleur knew she needed to slow her down. Fleur also couldn't help but notice the girl's cheeks flush, but there was no point in lingering on false hope. (But lingered she did.) "It is fine." Her eyes drifted towards the window. "I have been ill for some time. It has nothing to do with you, I swear it."

"Then why are you sick then?" Hermione's tone was quiet and suddenly sad. She cared? Somehow. In some way, yes, it seemed that she did.

"You read the book. I am not a half-breed but I am close… My mother is one and my father, he is a human wizard." Her eyes moved towards her family portrait. Her parents were smiling encouragement while Gabrielle was peeking up over the frame, ready to stick her tongue out at Hermione if need be. "There is only a short amount of time after puberty that may pass before the need to find a mate takes me over. If I do not…" Her eyes caught on Gabrielle, still poised for the defense, who still had some years left… Fleur lost her train of thought.

"What?"

"I become ill. So you see, it has nothing to do with you, not really. It is merely my bloodline."

"I don't think it's mere, Fleur. And neither does Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore."

Fleur's eyes moved from the fireplace and found Hermione, never expecting to hear such worry. She waved her hand. "They worry themselves needlessly. I have dealt with this for quite some time. I had hoped…" (But it was too painful to hope now.) "Well, I had hoped different things but I see now this is not the place for me. I belong elsewhere, I should think." Returning back to smile at Hermione, she gave a half shrug. "It seems the trend will continue, hm? No Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts lasts long at Hogwarts. Ah well… I will finish out the year, at least."

"What did you hope for?"

For a second, Fleur thought she caught something in Hermione's eye. A certain glimmer of something she had seen before, something she had longed to see since she first arrived. Every other time it came to the surface, Fleur always looked away, sure that she was putting it there and not actually finding it there. But there it was. Possibly.

"And what do I have to do with it?" Hermione pressed on, "Is it like what I read in the book? Because I don't fall under your thrall? Staring at you with a brain dead worshipping expression like nearly everyone else at school?"

Fleur burst out laughing, unsure how to respond to such an accurate description of her life. To her surprise, Hermione laughed along (with her). It was the first time Fleur had heard Hermione's laughter in connection to her. Fleur longed to hear it again and again. But then Hermione looked at her, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, it has to do with that." She continued to laugh, but she soon returned to the serious expression of before. In a moment of bravery, she moved closer to Hermione so only a few inches were between them. She longed to just reach out and touch Hermione's cheek, to kiss her softly on the lips and explain later. Though the kiss was probably a satisfactory explanation.

"Do you know how rare it is?" Fleur whispered quietly, as if it was a secret that Hermione should lean in closer to hear. "How hard it is for my people, the veela, to find someone who doesn't fall under our spell? Can you even imagine what it is like… to talk to someone and see their eyes glaze over and know that no matter what you say, they will agree, despite not really hearing a word that you have uttered? A form of hell, I would think." She leaned back, unable to handle the proximity. Unable to trust her bravery to not to be cowardly. Her tone softened and she smiled. "That is why you interest me. You are not under my thrall… you do not look at me that way, you hear everything that I say, although you might not care for one word of it. I must admit," she chuckled nervously. She had mentally prepared some version of this previously, but it was somehow odd, embarrassing to say it aloud. "I find it invigorating."

Hermione looked at her with a strange look Fleur could not immediately read. "Then… you don't want me…? For the courtship ritual, I mean."

It was what seemed to be a long time before Fleur responded. She studied Hermione face's, trying to interpret the expression. Yes, there was a duality there that she could not quite figure out, but somehow something in it gave her strength. Something was lingering in Hermione's eyes now, she was sure of it. So she smiled.

"No, Mademoiselle Granger. You are mistaken. I do want you. Very much."

The other girl stared at her, unable to respond. But, now listen to this, it is the important part: she did not scowl.


	5. The Crowded Hallway

Fleur often feared for her secret. She feared for it even more now that she had told Hermione (who might be bound to tell friends, who in turn were equally bound to tell more friends…). Alone at night her imagination tortured her with the possibility of her secret somehow escaping to the student body at large and it leaking to the parents. The howlers would start. She could already imagine the accusations screamed at her by disembodied voices. Dumbledore was turning Hogwarts into a lesbian dating ground. She was violating the sacred relationship between teachers and students. She was taking advantage of a minor. She was a pervert. A twisted pervert. And a French one at that. Parents probably did not care for lesbians who dated their students who also happened to be French veelas… that complicated things to be sure. She knew what had happened to Professor Lupin. The public was by no means overtly hostile to veelas, however it was still a common occurrence to be referred to as a half breed, among other less savory terms, either to her face or whispered under the breath. 

She feared the repercussions even though nothing had happened between her and Hermione (but not from a lack of wanting, desiring). Fleur had found a reason to hope in Hermione's eyes, found small clues lingering in her voice that….

They had not talked since Fleur's confession. Neither knew what to say. Hermione avoided eye contact more avidly than before and when she did look at Fleur, her eyes seemed adamantly locked onto Fleur's neck. Fleur very much wanted to know what Hermione's eyes were afraid of. Fleur called on Hermione even more in class.

"How would one defeat a giant, Madesmoiselle Granger?"

Hermione eyes jolted to attention from the window to land (not so discreetly) on Fleur's chest. The brunette's face flushed as her eyes roamed up (yes, roamed) to safer territory. Hermione did not see Fleur smile at this as Hermione's eyes were locked once again on the fairly neutral region of Fleur's neck.

"Mademoiselle Granger?" Fleur repeated, smiling, sensing that perhaps Hermione needed a reminder. "Do you have any suggestions for how we might defeat a giant in battle?"

In was in that moment when she spoke that Fleur watched Hermione's eyes leave the safe haven of Fleur's neck to instinctively move up to look her in the face. Their eyes met, locked. Hermione swallowed and Fleur felt her heart seem to stop beating. Neither one averted eye contact.

"Soft spot on their head." Hermione's voice was surprisingly hoarse and her eyes returned (slowly) back to gazing out the window after she spoke. But it was too late. Fleur had found what she was looking for and it was not how to defeat a giant in battle.

"Exactly. The only weakness of a giant, besides poor eyesight, is a soft spot located on their heads, which is the reason that you almost never see one without their helmet on. After all," her smile broke out into a chuckle, "if you had but two weaknesses wouldn't you do your best to conceal them from others?"

Her classroom sighed save for Hermione, who scowled in response to the sighs. Her responding scowl. Responding. Fleur clung to the sudden observance that the scowl came only _after_ the sighs. Perhaps, after all, it was not at her at all that Hermione was scowling at. How had she not seen it before?

To Fleur's surprise, at the end of class Hermione remained in her seat, staring out the window. Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Hermione was both beautiful and resigned. Bored. For a second time Fleur found herself politely shooing her admirers out of the room as her stomach was consumed by her nerves. After she closed the door softly behind the last person, she turned around to face Hermione. Hermione was looking at the floor. Not much of an improvement from the window.

(Forward.) Fleur approached Hermione, Hermione who seemed determined to look only at Fleur's ankles. Not much of an improvement from her neck.

"You will not look at me at least?"

A moment passed before Hermione lifted up her gaze. All the scowls were nothing compared to what was now on Hermione's face (Horror? Disgust? Fear? She could not name it nor did she want to).

"Why do you wear that face?" She spoke softly. She did not know why, but in the privacy of the moment and perhaps to wipe away the face (or perhaps she could not hold back any longer), her fingers reached out and braved the short distance between their bodies. Victoriously, her fingers rested softly, barely touching Hermione's cheek. She did not know why in that moment she had done that, but she now knew that Hermione's skin was soft and cool to the touch. Hermione did not move away. 

"This is unpleasant for you, I know that. I often feel the same. I do not enjoy the attention as they would think."

Abruptly Hermione shot backwards away from Fleur's touch. Stung by the sudden emptiness in the air, Fleur withdrew her hand.

"Then why not forget about me?" Hermione burst. "Find someone else who won't fall under your thrall. Someone not at Hogwarts." Harsh words cut like daggers.

"Because I cannot!" Fleur shot back, pain fully evident in her voice. This was impossible. Hermione was impossible. Fleur turned on her heels as her face contorted in anger, not wanting to give Hermione the pleasure of seeing just how deep her word cut. She quickly gathered up her satchel. Fleur could hear Hermione, clearly seething, inhale with frustration and exhale. "I never thought you could be this cruel or foolish." Fleur slammed the door behind her on her way out. Why had Hermione stayed just to say that?

Fleur furiously navigated her way through the crowded hallway, trying to erase all signs of her pain and anger from her face. It would not do for the throngs of students to see her weak and upset. She did not push or shove, but weaved in and out through the mass of bodies as fast as she could, holding in her pain and exhaustion until she could reach some place private.

But a hand grabbed her arm, causing her to spin around quickly to come face-to-face Hermione. What did she want? Had Hermione not hurt her enough as it was?

"What did you say that for? You were the one who began this whole thing!" Hermione's voice was shrill, demanding. "You came here because of me and not the other way around! Don't you dare start calling me names!" Underneath it all, Hermione was pleading for Fleur to leave her alone. But not in the way she meant it. Fleur had made Hermione's life confusing and complicated.

Fleur's eyes drifted upwards from where Hermione's fingers (gently) grasped her arm. (Tenderly.) And when their eyes met, Fleur could see the softness beneath the anger.

So Fleur moved forward. Once again crossing the short distance between them, the kiss began softly, tentatively. But it released a hunger, a desire, a want, a passion that Fleur had denied for so long and could barely control. When Hermione did not pull away, the softness quickly melted away into something deeper. Fleur's satchel slip from her grasp as she closed the distance between their bodies. Hermione gasped as their breasts touched, opening her mouth, welcoming Fleur in. Deeper. It was hungry and tender, desperate and patient, shy and brave, scary and comforting, a(n awkward) release. It was the way a first kiss should be. Fleur was afraid to let go, afraid of the aftermath as she laid an unsure claim on Hermione's lips.

A loud cough broke the silence surrounding the kiss and the rest of the world came rushing back.

Fleur pulled away slowly, lingering on Hermione's lips, not wanting to lose what she had just found. Their kiss ended with a small, affectionate kiss that might have been nearly chaste if it hadn't been preceded by such tender desperation, if it hadn't been between a teacher and her student. If it hadn't inadvertently expressed something that went far deeper than lust, exposing Fleur's love for all to see. Her eyes dwelled for a moment longer still, in no rush to find the source of the rudeness, smiling softly at Hermione and her hand moving up to rest on Hermione's (flushed, soft) cheek. She had not forgotten that they were in a crowded hallway. She had merely forgotten that this mattered.

As she turned to face the gaping hallway, she found Snape, seeming to grin underneath his sneer.

"Delacour." His words were snide, his look near gloating as if finally stumbling across what he had been seeking. "I know Dumbledore is giving you leeway when it comes to your… relationship," he sneered, "with Granger here, but I doubt he would approve of such displays. Particularly when it is a Hogwarts Professor and the Head Girl responsible for these acts."

"Oh?" Fleur arched her eyebrow. Her calm expression was not mirrored in Hermione's face. Hermione had just noticed the stares in the hallway, and this did matter. "I had always thought the Headmaster to be the romantic sort. Besides," she glanced back at the anxious Hermione, trying to calm her. (What had she done?) "There would be nothing to tell, after all. This was simply my way of apologizing for a lover's tiff." She didn't know why she said this. One kiss did not make them lovers, but it made her bold. "Would he really care of such things?"

Snape snarled and pushed past on a direct route to Dumbledore.

She turned back to Hermione, who was trying to avoid the attention they were receiving. "Horrible man. … Hermione?"

Suddenly, Fleur realized more clearly what she had done. Hermione stood there stiffly. Fleur had barely realized that they were holding hands and now Hermione was pulling away and she did not want to let go.

"You shouldn't have done that. Not here, not in front of everyone." Her tone was cold, almost trembling (out of anger? Fear? … Excitement? Lust?).

"Yes," Fleur agreed, but she couldn't take it back now. She didn't want to take it back. "Much like we should not discuss this here as well. Will you accompany me then?"

"Just leave me alone. Leave me alone!" Hermione rushed off down the hallway the attractive swing of her hips gone. Deeper. Deeper into the hallway. Fleur sighed, picked up her satchel and left in the opposite direction, ignoring the students around her. Forward. Away. Following her now could do no good.


	6. About Earlier

That evening found Fleur sprawling on her office chair staring up at the ceiling. It was a complicated situation. She had kissed Hermione Granger and Hermione Granger had kissed back. In a crowded hallway. It had been an amazing kiss, her fingers hovered above her lips and her stomach flipped just thinking about it. But. It had been a kiss between a professor and a student, two women. In a crowded school hallway. Fact and more gossip. Not exactly the great English romance one expected or wanted to see in high school hallways. Not exactly the puppy love that parents often already feared so much. But she couldn't help but smile as she had the kiss on a continuous replay in her mind until it was broken by a knock on the door drawing her attention back to the present.

"Who is it?" Fleur asked, her eyes stayed lock on the ceiling, fighting the urge to tell whomever it was to go away, that she was busy. Very, very busy (fantasizing).

"Minerva," came a distinguished voice from the other side of the wooden door.

"Come in," Fleur quickly sat up and tried made herself look like she was doing anything but being a forlorn young person in love. This apparently meant shuffling some papers around and feigning at organizing her desk as the older woman entered. Fleur respected and even liked McGonagall (she couldn't bring herself to say Minerva for some reason), but their relationship with each other was distant, polite, professional. Certainly they never visited each other outside the needs of their shared profession.

"I heard about your…" The older woman began discreetly after she closed the door and fully entered the room. "Well, I came to see how you were doing." Pause. "Health-wise. Of course."

"Pomfrey worries herself needlessly." Fleur forced a casual smile and waved her hand to further downplay the issue before using it to offer McGonagall a seat. Fleur's condition and reason for being at Hogwarts had never been officially announced public. However, as the Head of Gryffindor, Fleur imagined that McGonagall had been discreetly informed.

"Should I worry myself needlessly about your behavior in the hallway?" McGonagall's eyebrow arched questionably. Gryffindors and their boldness.

Fleur leaned back in her chair and sighed, not even attempting to hide the moment of shock that swept across her features. "I doubt such an occurrence will happen again." Or elsewhere for that matter. Hermione was angry and stubborn. Fleur was exhausted (and hopeful).

"Certainly you are not giving up because of one small-…?" Until this instant, Minerva McGonagall had, at best, regarded Fleur with an air of suspicion.

"No. I mean… no." If Fleur had been deterred by one small problem with Hermione, she would have packed her bags long ago. "I'm not. To be honest, I don't have much of a choice, really." Fleur shrugged. And then as if to explain but perhaps more to herself, "I love her."

"You know, in my day, girls did not go around kissing other girls, especially not in crowded hallways." Fleur arched an eyebrow as McGonagall spoke. The older woman almost seemed to be speaking wistfully. "In my day, your situation would have been near impossible. I would think. And now couples like Lavender and Parvati are out in the open and you are kissing one of your students in public. Modern times. It is a wonder what progress we've made in such a short amount of time." There was almost a glimmer in her eye as she spoke. (Modern times oh my.)

"Lavender and Parvati, really?" Fleur suddenly became sidetracked by her surprise. Only having seen the two housemates in a classroom setting, she had never even begun to guess.

"Modern times." Minerva repeated with a smile and shook her head with what seemed to be amusement. "They remain respectable in the hallways however otherwise open and blatant about their affections. Perhaps you would do wise to do the same." Fleur flushed at the pointed words.

"In my defense, I became a professor solely so I could be able to kiss one of my students." Fleur grinned playfully, and then feeling like such a joke was out of place, she shrugged self-consciously. "It was Dumbledore's idea."

"I'm not sure he had the hallway in mind when he offered you this position."

"No. But I am sure, knowing Dumbledore, that he did not rule the possibility out."

There was a moment where McGonagall sighed. "Hermione isn't like her dear friend Harry, Fleur. She has never truly acclimated to all the gossip and attention."

Fleur leaned back and sighed. "I am becoming better aware of that. I made a bloody mess of things. I think is what you English would say about this situation. A bloody mess, hm?" She shook her head. "It was not how I had planned or hoped for it to be, if that is any small consolation."

"I believe you can still fix it." McGonagall stood up, having neared the end of what she wanted to say. "Madam Pomfrey wants to see you. Probably to check in about the latest in your situation." Pause. "Health-wise, of course." Minerva smiled to herself before letting herself out, pausing at the doorway for one final comment. "And good luck to you."

* * *

 

After (poorly) assuring Pomfrey of her impeccable health (all lies, of course), Fleur decided it was best if she retired for the day and to give Hermione a few more days to… calm down. And maybe try to talk to her on Monday. No sooner had she made this decision then she turned the corner and came face to face with Hermione in an otherwise empty corridor. 

"Mademoiselle Granger," Fleur spoke hesitantly, not hiding the shock on her face. Hermione only nodded stiffly, taking a full step backwards away from Fleur. Fleur sighed heavily. "I-…"

"I'm on my way to class." Hermione's tone was abrupt and curt but her eyes flickered back and forth between Fleur, the floor and the wall, lingering on the French woman more than Hermione would like to admit.

"Can we talk?" Fleur titled her head to the side, using her words softly. "Later?" Pause. "After you have class."

Hermione shrugged noncommittally.

"I know that you are mad at me—and rightfully so—and that you have enough homework to avoid me until you graduate," Fleur herself having assigned a rather large essay, "but I believe it best if we talked. As I do not want to detain you from your studies and homework, this weekend perhaps?"

Hermione sighed; her noncommittal words were laced with annoyance. "After Hogsmeade on Saturday might work."

"Would it be too forward to ask you over for dinner? At least, we should talk at my house where-…"

"I'll think about it. But now I really must get to class." Hermione interrupted before maneuvering around Fleur and thus ending the conversation. (Never mind that it was after dinner and all classes had ended hours ago.)

* * *

 

Every Saturday, Fleur went down to Hogsmeade to run errands and get off campus. As it was a Hogsmeade weekend at Hogwarts, Fleur thought it best to delay her errands until Sunday. However McGonagall had invited her to the Three Broomsticks with a few other professors. After learning that Snape was not to among the gathering, Fleur found that she was happy to accept. Company would do her some good and it would probably be for the best if she was able to be on friendlier terms with her colleagues. Even at Gringotts, she had managed to make friends faster than at a Hogwarts. The first step was getting to know her colleagues better. Or at all, really.

It was mid afternoon when she entered the Three Broomsticks. Her eyes quickly found McGonagall sitting at small table in a corner by herself. The other professors apparently hadn't arrived yet. For a second it occurred to Fleur to wonder if there were any other professors who intended on arriving.

The thought was not entertained for long as Fleur quickly spotted Hermione sitting with Lavender and Parvati. The three girls appeared to be rather engrossed in conversation over butter beer and bags of candy. Fleur had to admit that while she had not noticed it before, Lavender and Parvati were unmistakably a couple. There were the small gestures and looks, an ease and comfort. Why had she not seen it before?

Feeling that no good would come of approaching Hermione in a crowded public space, Fleur began to navigate through the maze of tables in McGonagall's direction. However, whatever the three were talking about got Hermione excited enough so that she raised her voice loud enough so Fleur could not help but to overhear.

"Dreams are dreams. They aren't anything to get worked up about. Just because I've had a few about Fleur doesn't mean I'm still not furious over what she did to me. Honestly, kissing me in front of the whole school! Practically everyone in Hogwarts hates me now."

Hermione's had dreams about her? (Impossible.)

"Fleur doesn't," Parvati spoke as she quickly examined a Bertie's Every Flavor Bean before popping it into her mouth. "Nice boring chocolate. Yummy for me."

"I don't care if Fleur hates me!"

It was at this instant that both Lavender and Parvati noticed Fleur, frozen en route to McGonagall. The three women locked eyes, their expressions ranging from being shocked, horrified and apologetic. McGonagall, too, chose this moment to realize Fleur had entered. The Transfiguration professor stood up but was otherwise helpless to the scene she witnessed before her. The Gryffindor couple tried desperately to get Hermione to turn around and realize that their conversation had become a spectator event. However, Hermione refused to catch a hint and shut up, leaving Fleur in the uncomfortable position of overhearing everything.

"No! I mean it, Lavender, I don't care one little bit of what Fleur thinks of me! She can… just… bugger off! I'm serious when I say this, I truly am." Hermione stood up and, as if to prove her point, placed her hands on her hips. It was a cute, if not entirely painful gesture. (Fleur knew what Hermione's hips felt like in her hands.)

"Hermione—" Parvati once tried unsuccessfully to get her friend's attention, to save her professor. All she could do was apologize to the frozen Fleur with her eyes.

"I… don't… care…." The agitated brunette stared at her friends, slowly spacing her words out for emphasis.

In response, one of the girls resorted to casting a wind spell on the brunette. Hermione, confused and surprised, slowly spun around until she became face to face with Fleur. Her surprise only increased.

"Bonsoir," Fleur looked straight at Hermione. Her tone uneven and unfalteringly, every ounce of her energy dedicated to seeming clam and controlled. "So… you do not care?" She had meant to say something else. Something witty perhaps. 

"Fleur… I…" Hermione tried to do something, to back pedal, but Fleur did not (could not) give her the chance to finish.

"It is fine. I did not expect you to. Forget my invitation of dinner. I am sure you have better ways in which to spend your time." The French woman turned and walked away, leaving an oddly quiet Three Broomsticks in her wake. 

Once outside and out of eyeshot of the Three Broomsticks, Fleur broke out into a full run. While she could not maintain the pace for long, she moved as fast as she could manage, stumbling over her own feet at times. All that mattered was crossing the most amount of distance as possible. The crisp late autumn air bit into her, warning her of the quickly approaching winter, as she slowed down her pace.

Once inside the safety of her home, she threw herself into the replica of her father's leather armchair by the fire. She could not quite cry. She just held herself, rocking back and forth, feeling the change come over her body. She knew she was overreacting. But she was exhausted by Hermione's mixed messages and she was in the privacy of her own home. It did not matter if Hermione had kissed her back, apparently had dreams about her, or looked at her in that way. The girl was determined, for whatever reason, not to love her. She had judged and deemed Fleur unlovable. 

Fleur did not know how much time has passed before she heard her front door open and Goldie briskly taking a coat. She knew (hoped, dreaded) who it was.

"Fleur?" Hermione's voice was neither angry nor cross, but hesitant and shy as she called from the entranceway.

Fleur did not respond until she heard Hermione's footsteps draw nearer. In the corner of her eye she caught Gabrielle's outburst of unbecoming faces as Hermione entered the room. It almost made her smile. "You have made Gabrielle cross."

"Really? I couldn't tell. She always looks that way when I'm here, after all." The girl's tone was trying light as she moved even closer to Fleur's figure.

"Hm, that is true, I suppose." The blonde allowed herself a slight chuckle, trying to regain her grace, her composure, and her human form before Hermione would see.

"Fleur, about earlier…I—"

"I said it is fine." It came out harsher than intended, but at that moment all she wanted was for Hermione to leave. She didn't want Hermione to see her like this. The girl had no right… but when Fleur spoke again her tone was softer (sadder), her eyes locked on the fire. "We have nothing between us, you and I. Certainly I never expected you to care for me. I hoped… eh, foolish things." Her tone became quiet, nearly a whisper, as if realizing a secret that made her very sad. "Do not worry. I will survive."

"But you… the ritual… You said—"

"I will survive." She interrupted again, staring at the fire, her tone once again becoming abrupt and harsh. "I ask again for you to leave now." Though she refused to look at the girl, she could sense her standing there staring at her, taking in veela form.

"Fleur, what's happened to you?"

"Nothing." Fleur glanced at the other girl but she quickly averting her attention back to the fire. "This is what happens sometimes. My veela blood… it takes control. You have seen the shift, surely? From one form to the next in pure blooded veela?" Her voice was distant, as if she was delivering a lesson by rote, a lesson she had no interest in teaching.

"Yes. But why is it happening to you?"

"Emotional distress. It is a natural defense, one supposes. To ward off people from causing my kind pain." Her laughter sounded hollow and her eyes searched for something familiar and comforting. She found Gabrielle making faces. It made her smile. Her loyal, loving sister. "Although it does not work so effectively in these harsh modern times. I said you can leave." She murmured, hoping for mercy, wishing for love.

"I don't want to leave. I want to talk with you, Fleur. I didn't mean what I said back there, really I didn't. It's just, well, I don't like all this attention…. It bothers me." She blushed beneath her stubborn, yet flustered face. Her eyes moved from Fleur to out the window. "I wish you hadn't kissed me in public like that, is all."

Neither spoke for a moment as Fleur slowly turned Hermione's words over in her mind. In a smooth, fluid movement, Fleur rose and bravely extended a hand to softly touch Hermione's cheek. Hermione did not move away, but instead into the touch as turned to face Fleur. It was in that instant that Fleur became human again.

"We are alone now…" The French woman was cautious but alluring. Tilting her head to the side, she dared to smile. "May I kiss you?"

Shakily, the younger girl nodded, her breath barely whispering a yes before Fleur moved forward to capture the yes between her lips and twisted it around with her tongue. This kiss was nothing like the kiss in the hallway. After all, a second kiss can never be the same as the first. Hermione's lips were now a known quantity with a lingering mystery and a sense of discovery. They had acquired a taste for each other and knew what to expect. Hermione's lips were soft, responding to Fleur's tender eagerness, deepening the kiss. The two young women became lost in the embrace, allowing themselves to be flooded by the sensations, by the feelings and emotions of a second kiss enjoyed in private, of an accepted apology, of relief and desire.

Guided somewhat gracefully by Fleur, they fell back onto the leather recliner, Hermione falling softly onto Fleur's lap. Surrounded by the warmth, the softness, the touch of Hermione's body, Fleur moved further into the kiss, desperately trying to keep a hold of her senses. Hungrier. Gasps of relief and moans of pleasure filled the air as the Delacour family portraits turned their back to give the two girls privacy (Gabrielle kept peeking from behind the frame). Fleur's hand traced the edge of Hermione's shirt hesitantly before sliding under the hem and trailing up to rest on the younger girl's breasts. Hermione's eyes snapped opened and the brunette pulled away.

Fleur's hands dropped to the other girl's hips, realizing she had gone too far. Be patient. In all things. (One thing.) But it's hard to remember those things while being straddled (by your student, by the love your life).

"No… I…. I can't… I mean, we've only just… it's…" Hermione's breath was ragged, her voice exhilarated and slightly panicky. (We've. She said we.)

"Shhh..." Fleur tenderly began to smooth Hermione's hair back to calm her down. "I understand. I do not want to rush into anything you might regret later, Hermione."

The younger girl exhaled her relief, nuzzling her face on Fleur's shoulder. "I like how you say that." Her words tickled Fleur's neck and the blonde smiled peacefully.

"Say what?" Fleur wrapped her arms around the girl's waist to bring their bodies closer, to hold Hermione there in that space between her neck and shoulder. Even so, it seemed like Hermione was too far away. The warmth, the touch, the feel of the other girl was intoxicating.

"My name."

"Ah," her tones were filled with amusement. What if she had started saying Hermione earlier, would it have helped? Could she have saved herself all this pain and effort? (Probably not.) "Well, then," she changed her tone to her best impression of herself while teaching, "I think I will have to call you that more often then. It might help you respond better to me in class, non? 'Hermione' do you know the most effective way to slay a gargoyle?"

Playing along and parodying her own annoyance, she nuzzled further into the older woman. "But I won't tell you unless you say my name again!"

"Hermione," she repeated, aware of every syllable, every letter in the name and how they moved across her tongue and over her lips to create beauty. Her fingers moved up the brunette's sides and began to tickle her lightly. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!"

Giggling and squirming uncontrollably, the younger girl gasped. "Stop it! I can't stand being tickled, even if you are saying my name!"

"I apologize." She ceased tickling at once. "I promise to not do that to you again." Her hands migrated to the small of Hermione's back and began, instead, to rub circles, simply enjoying the touch, the feel of her. Holding her was enough. At that moment, it was enough. There were be other moments, yes, where there would need to be more. But right now? She was content to just hold Hermione.

"It's all right." The girl looked serene and happy, a new territory of facial expressions that Fleur was devoted to fully exploring. There were so many things that she would have to know about Hermione, she realized. So many things to discover and learn. What she a morning person? Did she have lucky socks, a happy childhood? A favorite book? Food allergies? Plans for after school? They were all questions she had pondered countless times before, but now they seemed more real, more tangible. But that, too, could wait until later.

For a long time, they were silent, the kind of silence that accompanies newness. To listen to Hermione inhale and exhale, to feel her heart beating against hers… It was enough. Fleur shifted her body slightly, giving a sigh of bliss. Shyly, she kissed Hermione softly on the cheek. Her lips lingered for a moment, intoxicated, even, by the softness of Hermione's skin. Fleur's eyes closed softly for the briefest of moments. Yes.

"Thank you for this." (Thank you for not running away.)

"You don't have to thank me, Fleur." Hermione looked almost alarmed, and moved back to look at Fleur. "I wanted to." The girl, blushing, reached out to rest her hand on Fleur's face. As if suddenly realizing that she believed in what she said, she repeated herself. "I wanted to. I like you, I really do."

"I am glad," Fleur smiled softly. In her mind, she whispered the words I love you, but it was not the time. No. Suddenly, for the first time in years, she felt that she truly had time. There was time for forward, for deeper. But there was also time for pause, for breathing, for now. In that moment it was if she had all the time in the world. In that moment.

The Beginning.


	7. About Later. About Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter follows the last publicly available chapter of Dreiser's "No Defense for You." The rest of the story references the third chapter that Dreiser wrote, which is no longer available. From there, the plot was developed in connection with conversations with Dreiser.

On Monday morning, Fleur lingered outside her classroom and exhaled, not knowing what to expect. She had kissed her student in the (crowded) hallway. She had dramatically exited the (crowded) Thee Broomsticks only to be followed by the same student. Her and Hermione… whatever they were was no secret to the student body at Hogwarts. And now she had to teach her students, who all knew, how to defend themselves from predators. Because, of course she did. The full reality of the situation was not lost on her. 

Monday morning began with a double period of first years. The first years were, in many ways, the hardest to teach. She always ended the class overwhelmed by how much she missed Gabrielle, who was the same age. She wished that she could be there for her sister during her first year, but it was time to start letting go. Gabrielle was growing up. And so was she.

And this class had to be taught. There was no preventing it. The students would react however they would react. She was only (foolishly) trying to avoid and put off the inevitable. And it was best that the students didn't smell fear. So she inhaled deeply and entered on an exhale. Some of the first years stared. There was giggling, whispering and awkward shifting. Suddenly Fleur remembered what it was like to be at Beauxbatons, pubescent and insecure. It was going to be a long day. However, she was a Delacour and Delacours can have long days but they must never appear like they are having one.

Fleur taught her class as she did every other day. It went smoothly (for the most part) once the class began. One could never accuse Fleur of being unable to hold a classroom. She had the presence and the passion. It especially showed with the first years, who were, for the most part, too young to fall prey to her veela charms.

After explaining an element of basic defense theory, however, she made the fatal mistake of asking if anyone had any questions. Actually her mistake laid in calling on a small Gryffindor boy who raised his hand hesitantly.

"Yes, Monsieur Albers?"

"Professor Delacour, are you a lesbian?"

"Yeah, and are you dating the Head Girl?" Another Gryffindor boy, McSweeney, piped in.

Gryffindors were always known for their boldness and sometimes their downright bluntness. It was a trait she only found endearing in Hermione. And sometimes barely then.

"What's a lesbian?" A girl in back with pigtails looked confused.

"But I thought Hermione was in love with Ron." Another Gryffindor boys, with freckles, piped up thoughtfully. When people looked at him, he shrugged. "That's what my sister said. She's a sixth year."

"Yeah, but Karla's in Ravenclaw. What's she supposed to know?"

"Ravenclaws are smart!" The freckled boy retorted. "She knows tons of stuff!"

"But about Gryffindor?" Another shot back.

"Enough!" Fleur commanded. She normally would not have let it gone that far, but she had been thrown by the Ron comment. (Ron, really?) The class suddenly came to rapt attention as if suddenly realizing that they were in a classroom. Or maybe they were just waiting for her answer.

"Mademoiselle Granger and I are not dating." This was true. They weren't. They had only kissed. (Many times. In several different rooms of her house. And in the hallway at Hogwarts, which was why she was now having this situation.)

"Then why did you kiss her in the hallway?" Mr. Albers rejoined the conversation.

A Ms. Waters raised her hand. "Oh! I know. Maybe it was a love potion? I've heard about those. My brother tried to make one once… he got in so much trouble when Mum found out." The young girl shook her head, remembering.

Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose. It was going to be a long day indeed. She could only imagine what Hermione's day was like. But if it was anything like hers, she prayed that it would not scare Hermione away.

* * *

 

The truth was that Fleur knew next to nothing about love. She knew about unrequited love, yes. She knew about longing, yes, about (shy) pursuit and acts of bold pouncing, yes. She knew the feeling in her heart, her body (she knew the feel of Hermione's lips, her laugh). But no, she knew nothing truly about love. Nothing of the hard work or life after the awkwardness and the excitement was gone.

Fleur was seventeen when she fell in love. It was like stumbling in front oncoming bus in an express lane; and it was like waiting ten years to die. It was sudden and it took forever. Unlike death, though, she now had to work to build it, to maintain it, to hold onto it so that it would last (and there was no guarantee that even after all your hard work it would last). This, whatever it was, was barely even a beginning. It took time and it took work.

And time? And time slips past her fingers like it was nothing she could ever expect to hold onto. How can you hold onto a relationship if you can't hold onto time? (Because they're different.) Time moves, time continues. Love moves, one must work, however, to continue it.

And lovers? Lovers are always horrible with time.

On Saturday night, hours after the Three Broomsticks, Fleur offered to make dinner after they had lost track of time and Hermione had missed dinner at the Great Hall. Hermione agreed. Not for the first time, Fleur wished she were a better cook.

Fleur never understood dinner and lunch dates. Chewing was supposed to be attractive? And how could one feel charming if there was that ever looming threat of food being stuck in one's teeth? Or soup dribbled down one's front? (Not that Fleur had table manners where this might happen. But others did and these people were looking for love and trying to find it over food. This confused her.) Food and love together just didn't make sense to Fleur (and she was French). But she knew that somehow food played a vital role in love. And that is why she wished she were a better cook.

Leading Hermione into the kitchen, Fleur made a joke about their progressing to a new room. She had meant quite literally that they were moving from the parlor to the kitchen, but after saying it she felt awkward. Would Hermione find a double entendre and feel pressured or rushed? Think that she was expecting something from this dinner? She hadn't meant that, she hadn't meant that at all. But to explain that… it would be awkward.

Hermione smiled quietly in response.

There is something wonderful, though, about cooking for two when you are so used to cooking for one. Fleur hadn't cooked for two since she was last home with Gabrielle and their parents had left on a week's vacation. It felt nice to be doing it again.

They made shy, small talk as Fleur doubled the recipe. At times, it was awkward, but Fleur would always interject with questions. Does Hermione like this spice? This flavoring? Has she ever tried this French food? (Fleur held back her rant on the lack of English cuisine.)

From the kitchen, Fleur could see her family portraits through the doorway. Normally, this was comforting but tonight she tried to avoid their encouraging looks, winks, and Gabrielle's faces. At those moments when she did catch a glimpse, Fleur would find herself wishing that she were taking Hermione out to dinner. But no. So many reasons, no. She didn't want to share Hermione, she didn't want to seem like she rushing things with a formal date. And in public there was that slight problem of other people.

Fleur served the small meal at her wooden kitchen table (the dining room table was too big, too formal, too scary in that moment). Fleur, nervous, made a comment that her cooking was not as good as the house elves at Hogwarts but that she hoped that the food was edible nonetheless. This sent Hermione into a long passionate rant about her student organization (which Fleur had never had of until now) that had the unfortunate name of SPEW. Fleur smiled quietly and, in response to Hermione's questions, said she would think about joining and would Hermione like seconds? Something more to drink, perhaps? Water? Pumpkin juice? (She was conscious not to offer wine. So many reasons no.)

They ate quietly at times, the chewing interspersed with essential get to know you small talk.

"You and your family seem close," Hermione commented, thinking back to the family portraits.

"Yes, we are. Gabrielle and I especially. She is so much younger than I that sometimes I find myself feeling more like a second mother than an older sister." Fleur smiled quietly inside herself and then shook her head. "What about you and your family?"

"I'm an only child. So it's just my parents and me…. When I was younger, we were closer. I mean…" Hermione paused, struggling with just how to explain it. "My parents and I still love each other very much. It's just… they don't understand magic. On some level… there is huge part of my life that they can't… understand fully no matter how they try or want to." Hermione shrugged, struggling to find words almost. "It makes it hard to be that close now."

"I've always wondered how hard that might be." Or at least ever since she learned that Hermione was from a Muggle family. "Magic is so… defining and essential to who we are, it infiltrates our very beings and to come from a family that is separate from that experience... it must be hard. I think it says a lot about the bonds you have with your parents that they can withstand this, non?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I… you know, I don't think I've ever talked about this before."

"Perhaps like me being a quarter veela I imagine, hm? People know, a comment is made here and there, but it is never talked about or discussed. I do not believe we know how to anymore. Modern political correctness balanced by old fashioned bigotry, I imagine." Fleur smiled and shook her head. "I find it rather silly. Who we are, where we come from, our ancestry… it's not a secret yet it is treated like one if we do not come from pureblooded wizarding families. It's pushed aside and ignored and yet we have to work twice as hard to be viewed as half as good, hm?"

"I… yes. I agree." Hermione nodded, thinking over Fleur's words. "Yes."

Fleur smiled softly and found herself blushing as she watched Hermione think.

"What?" Hermione was not used to someone smiling at her and blushing.

"Nothing. It was a change of subject. We were talking about something important. I'd rather we go back-…"

"Tell me." Hermione shifted uncomfortably, stubbornly.

"I was simply thinking about how beautiful you are." Fleur smiled and this time Hermione blushed.

* * *

 After dinner, Fleur gave Hermione a tour of her house. It was a quick tour; Fleur knew that Hermione should be getting back soon. How long had it been since the Three Broomsticks incident? It was getting dark, but winter was approaching and the days were getting darker earlier and earlier. Even so, they had been together for several hours at the very least. Easily. People, by then, had probably more than noticed Hermione's absence and were putting it together with Hermione chasing after Fleur.

Her house was small and the parlor and kitchen were unnecessary to be shown again. So Fleur moved the tour quickly through the dining room and reading room before moving up the stairs. But the problem with the upstairs, Fleur was quickly realized, was that it was mostly bedrooms. Maybe it was not such a good idea. Cook a girl dinner and then show her your bedroom? Maybe not. The bedroom could wait. Should wait. Would wait. But as Fleur walked past the door, Hermione pointed to the door, resting her hand on the doorknob slightly with curiosity.

"What room is this?"

"That would be my bedroom," Fleur remarked as casually as possible.

"Oh… can I see?"

"I was not expecting company today," Fleur blushed, trying to find a reason to say no, but Hermione seemed persistent. "You would like to see it?"

"I do." Hermione nodded and so Fleur opened the door.

Hermione followed Fleur into the room. Fleur stood there and shrugged, suddenly overly critical of the old desk and night stand, the few clothes strewn over a chair (not neatly folded) that ruined her otherwise clean and Spartan-like room. She was embarrassed by the few pictures she had up by her bed of her family, a few friends, and her favorite places in France.

"It is not much. Surely you would like to see other rooms?"

Her journal lay open by the bed stand and Fleur quickly, as casually as possible, walked over and closed the cover and placed it in the her nightstand drawer. Catching Hermione's curious glance, Fleur pointed to her desk that was in a state of organized chaos. "And that is where I work on my lesson plans."

Hermione nodded, looking around the room fully for a few seconds before hesitantly sitting down on Fleur's bed.

"Your house is not what I expected, Fleur."

Fleur sat down next to her. "Is that a good thing…?"

And then Hermione leaned in and kissed Fleur softly, shyly on the lips. It was a short, sweet kiss followed by another and another. Each one lingering longer. Each one flirting more and more with something deeper. Hermione's hand slid through Fleur's hair, down her neck, across her shoulder and grazed along her side to rest on Fleur's hips. Fleur sighed, trying to keep control of her senses as Hermione deepened the kiss, fighting the urge to lead Hermione down on the bed as she opened her mouth to let Hermione in. A well of hunger was opening up in Fleur that threatened to brim over. Not trusting that she could control it when they were sitting on her bed, Fleur pulled away with a slow, lingering kiss.

When they parted, Hermione's eyes remained closed for a moment. Fleur was only conscious of the feel of Hermione's hands on her body, the lingering feel of her lips, her scent and her heart beating in her chest, her ragged breathe. Tenderly, Fleur reached out and began tucking loose hair behind Hermione's ears and then lingered with her hand in Hermione's hair.

For a moment it was silent, and then Hermione looked directly up at Fleur in a way that sent chills down her spine and asked, "Fleur, what is going to happen on Monday?"

"Well," Fleur drew the word out trying to think but instead distracted herself with finding another loose strand of hair to tuck away behind Hermione's ear. "I imagine I am going to teach my classes and you are hopefully going to attend yours as I assume your other professors mark off for absences. I certainly will do so on Tuesday if you choose not to attend mine." She tried to smile jokingly but Hermione was waiting for the real answer. "Beyond the logistics of that… I honestly don't know." Fleur sighed. And it was true, she didn't know. (There was so much she still did not know.)

Hermione nodded, looking at her silently. Waiting.

"Is it bad that I just want to kiss you right now and talk later?" Fleur's voice was quiet as she looked up at Hermione. She didn't want to get into relationship talk. Hermione wasn't ready. They weren't ready. "It's just…"

"Complicated?" Hermione slide her hand under Fleur's, intertwining their fingers. "I'm not just… I'm just not… this is happening so fast. But I… I like kissing you."

Fleur smiled, closing her eyes briefly. A start. This was a start. "We can take this, whatever this is, slow."

"I would like that. The slow… and the kissing."

Fleur had meant to say something in response but somehow they ended up kissing instead. It was another hour at least before Fleur accompanied Hermione back to the castle.

"I would accompany you to your house door but…" Fleur said as they stopped by the door to the castle.

Hermione leaned in and gave Fleur a shy, quick kiss. "No, this is good. See you soon?"

Fleur nodded, holding back a comment about on time and with homework in hand. Hermione did not mean in class. She meant a different kind of later. Hopefully, at least. "Ah oui. Certainly." Fleur smiled shyly. "Have a good night."

And then Hermione entered the castle, looking back behind her shoulder once to smile. Fleur smiled back.


	8. Trust

The hospital wing was uncharacteristically empty that day. As if all illness and accidents could wait until after the Quidditch match. Fleur enjoyed this relative privacy as she peered out the window, observing the masses of blue and crimson making their way towards the pitch. The stadium was already beginning to fill and Fleur could almost feel the excitement in the air from where she was sitting. She reluctantly planned on joining the crowd soon enough, but for the time being she was in no rush and had stayed behind after her appointment to talk to Pomfrey. 

"You're going to the game?" Pomfrey watched the French woman's eyes on the window. It was evident from Pomfrey's tone that the older woman did not take Fleur for a sports fan and assumed ulterior motives.

"I was considering it." Fleur shrugged casually, looking away from the window. "Et toi?"

"Heavens no. It is a barbaric sport. And I'll have more than enough on my hands after the game, what with broken arms and unconscious teenagers. Especially when Gryffindor involved." Pomfrey shook her head. Harry Potter, despite supposedly being a brilliant flyer, was also seemingly one of the more accident-prone. 

"Well then I suppose I will be spared from your pestering me about my love life during the match then, hm?"

Pomfrey's retort was cut off by McGonagall opening the door and ushering in a rather pale Seamus Finnegan, who was clutching onto a pail for dear life. Fleur quickly averted her eyes and bit her lip in an attempt to maintain control of her sensitive gag reflex.

"He took too many Weasley Wheezes and vomited all over the antidote side," the Transfiguration professor rolled her eyes as she explained hurriedly.

"You'd be surprised how often this happens," Pomfrey shook her head exasperated, seeming to almost roll her eyes. "He is just going to have to wait for the potency to wear off I'm afraid. Depending on how many he took, it could take ten minutes to an hour or so…"

Seamus groaned and mumbled something that sounded like "I took five…"

Why couldn't the boy have taken the nosebleed one? Blood was far less disturbing than gut wrenching vomit.

McGonagall shook her head as Pomfrey ushered the boy into a private room. "He had to pull a stunt like that right before the Quidditch match. Irresponsible to say the least."

"He is on the team?" Fleur, who was finally gaining control over her stomach, had a hard time imagining the boy on a Quidditch pitch.

"No, he's the announcer. I don't know where I'm going to find someone to replace him last minute though…" And then McGonagall looked at Fleur and smiled. Fleur did not like that smile one bit.

"Minerva, no."

"The match starts in fifteen minutes, Fleur. Who else is going to do it?"

"I have not attended to a game since the Irish beat the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup. I am not even sure of all the positions. There are four balls and I only know the names of the quaffle and the snitch," she tried desperately to get out of it. "You do it."

"There are only three balls. The third is a bludger."

"Exactly why I should not be the announcer."

"I will give you the crash course on the way down to the pitch."

"Minerva, you simply cannot be serious." Fleur looked at her colleague with a look of exasperation.

"Both Harry and Ginny are on the team, she'll be sure to be there." McGonagall smiled mischievous, apparently believing she had played the winning card.

"You are an insufferable woman, Minerva."

And that is how Fleur found herself sitting in the announcer's box next to McGonagall at the Quidditch match trying to act like this was something she wanted to be doing in her free time. Frankly, she'd almost rather be grading papers. Quidditch, she was beginning to realize from the two-toned filled stands, was obviously bigger here than in France.

"Bonjour," Fleur drawled out playfully into the speaker, deciding that she might as well have fun with it. "I will be your announcer for today's match. Monsieur Finnigan is feeling under the weather, hm?" The enthusiasm from the crowd at this news made her eyebrow arch as she chuckled playfully. "I take that as a compliment but please… wish him well." This was a one-time deal. There was no way McGonagall would ever be able to convince her do this again.

"Today's match is Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Despite Mademoiselle McGonagall sitting at my side, I will say let the best team win." As she spoke, her eyes scanned across the crimson crowd. Somehow, she found Hermione sitting there and Fleur's eyes did not leave her as she continued to speak, "Although I must admit, I myself favor Gryffindor more times than not."

Through the crowd, she could almost see Hermione blush and Ron elbowing her playfully. (What exactly was their relationship? Weren't they sitting rather close?)

Pulling her lingering eyes away from Hermione and her friends, Fleur turned back to the game. The Gryffindor team was in full form and Harry was truly an excellent flyer. The game ended quickly enough, for which she was thankful. When she taught, she spoke incessantly, yes, but at her own pace. She did not like her pace being dictated by enchanted balls and kids whizzing around on broomsticks with bats. That and she had to stay constantly focused on the game. Any moment her attention strayed from the game, McGonagall would send her a subtle but sharp elbow. (At those moments she felt like a reprimanded child. And she wasn't entirely sure she liked it.) Twice she almost missed points being scored.

"Minerva, if I have any bruises after today this is the last time I do you any favors, hm?" Fleur joked after the game.

"Staring over at the Gryffindor section of the stadium is not doing me any favors, Fleur. I was merely reminding you. And I don't know how you could have given a more biased commentary if you tried, Fleur. You're nearly as bad as Mr. Finnigan."

Fleur feigned a hurt expression. "It pains me to think that you put me on the same level."

"He at least is biased out of house loyalty. You're a professor, Fleur."

"And surely the Heads of Houses never show any house prejudice?"

"Our bias is different from your bias, Fleur, and you know that." A beat. "Besides Severus is far worse than I am."

"Then you should be glad that she's in your house, non?" Fleur replied back in a playful whisper.

"Hello," a familiar voice broke into the conversation. (And suddenly?) Hermione was standing (shyly) close to Fleur. Fleur's heart skipped a beat. "You did a lovely job of announcing." Hermione blushed and looked down as she spoke, missing the soft smile that came to Fleur's face. Minerva's elbows might have been worth it.

"It pleases me that you think so," she murmured. Fighting back the urge to kiss Hermione then and there, Fleur's eyes found McGonagall. "Although I think my announcing was not up to Mademoiselle McGonagall's standards."

"I never said that," McGonagall's eyebrow arched. Perhaps it was because Fleur had called her Mademoiselle again. Or maybe it was just from watching them. Did they have the body language of people who had snogged (repeatedly)? "I simply said that you're almost as prejudiced as Mr. Finnigan when I comes to complimenting one side over the other. Not that I mind having more people root for Gryffindor." McGonagall allowed a smile on her features briefly, and then looked at the two. "I think I'll leave you ladies to yourselves."

McGonagall made a swift exit and Fleur leaned back against the railing so that she could get a better look at Hermione, who was blushing. Fleur could not hold back a chuckle from breaking past her (tender) smile.

"You embarrass so easily, it is quite charming."

"Don't you start teasing me as well. I get enough of that from Ron," Hermione huffed and sat down next to (close to) Fleur. (Ron again. A prick of jealousy.) As Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, Fleur fought back the urge to say, 'But when lovers do it, it is called flirting.' (No, for so many reasons no.) Instead, she let her eyes follow to where the brunette was pointedly glaring at a small group of students obviously fixated on them.

Fleur (urgently) touched Hermione's chin so as to bring their eyes to meet. Look at me, not them, Fleur thought, they don't matter.

"Yes? What is it?" Hermione turned her attention back to Fleur.

"I was not teasing. I think you are charming," she murmured and leaned further back up against the railing to distance herself (before she could move in for a kiss). She let her hands drop from Hermione's face to lie at her side. "Even when you are being stubborn like this, I find you charming."

Hermione seemed as if on the brink of saying something, but instead shifted uncomfortably, her eyes drifting back to the small group of students fixated on their interaction. Holding in a sigh, Fleur directed her full attention over to the insufferable lot. She would get nowhere with an audience and this she found to be frustrating but solvable.

"Is there some reason you are keeping a close watch on Mademoiselle Granger and myself?" Fleur made direct eye contact, keeping her voice even as she walked the line between casual and painfully serious. "Perhaps you think there will be some type of wrong doing occurring that you may report. Or maybe you are all hopeless romantics." They paled, embarrassed at having been addressed as the voyeurs they were. "Whatever your reasons are, I find I do not favor them and I ask you now, as a Professor who is capable of taking several points from your Houses, to leave us."

Fleur generally, as a principal, hated overt use of power and automatic obedience. It bothered her, troubled her on multiple levels. But this, with the students quickly scattering, was a rare exception. After they had left, she could not help but smirk. Hermione was blushing underneath a soft, shy smile, revealing genuine appreciation.

Fleur stood up and offered Hermione her hand, tipping her head to the side in invitation. (Forward.) Hermione grasped it, blushing further, and together they walked down the stairs onto the fields. Onto the fields. Amidst a mass of the student body.

They were once again the center of attention. Conversations would stop as they passed hand in hand. People would stare. A few frowned before returning to their conversations with the eagerness of gossips. Fleur squeezed Hermione's hand tighter for a second (maybe she should let go?). There was no way that she, even as a professor, could remedy this situation.

"News spreads fast," Hermione murmured.

"I find it odd myself," Fleur sighed, not sure what to do about this problem. Hermione did not want attention, but she was part veela and could not escape the attention of others. (Ignoring the fact that a student and a professor, both female, would naturally warrant a large amount of attention on its own.) The best she could do was show that she did not like it. That she would do her best to lessen it and that she much preferred Hermione's. "I was never interested in such thing. What did I care who dated who? Idle gossip serves no purpose in the end. I do not even find it all that entertaining." She dared a look at Hermione. "Do you?"

"Fleur, you do know who it is you're talking to, don't you? Or have you suddenly forgotten my personality and habits."

"Such a smart aleck." She swung their hands lightly for no other reason than she wanted to. She felt playful and girly. Fleur also wanted to kiss her again, but no, not here. "I think that we should not do more to antagonize them, though."

"Probably." Hermione's quiet laughter was beautiful in a way that Fleur could not explain. It was soft, tender… "Why don't we get away from here?"

Always hung on Fleur's lips as she allowed Hermione to lead them away from the crowd. Hermione did not seem to have a destination in mind as she weaved out of the prying eyes. So when, moments later, they were safely tucked out of view, Fleur bravely let go of Hermione's hand to slip her arm around Hermione's waist. (Forward.) Hermione sighed softly and leaned against her as they walked on. Fleur closed her eyes for a moment and smiled softly to herself. (Yes.)

But when she opened them, there was Hermione looking at her nervously.

"Fleur?" Hermione's words were shy and edged with nervousness. Fleur's stomach flipped. She could not help but look at Hermione with worry. "I… just wanted to tell you something."

"Yes?" Fleur had to struggle to keep her tone steady, despite the blush. Fleur was fearful of the words that were about to come out of Hermione's (beautiful, kissable) mouth. Perhaps she was going to fast or the crowd was too much… or maybe Hermione realized that she didn't really like women in this way. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. (Cross your fingers. Wish. Pray. Hope. Trust.)

"I just wanted to tell you that… well…" As Hermione spoke, her face turned bright red. She looked down. Fleur bit her lip as Hermione took a deep breath. When Hermione spoke again, her words were so fast Fleur barely knew if she actually caught them or imagined them.

"You make me very happy. Being with you makes me happy and I just thought I should tell you that." But catch the words, Fleur did. And she wanted to engrave those into her heart (and cry) the minute they passed through Hermione's lips. "That sounded idiotic." (No, you silly girl. Never.)

"I don't think so," Fleur found it hard, still, to control her voice, surprised by the husky affection instead of the cracking voice she was sure would find a way to the surface. It was what she needed to hear, but feared she never might. It was a start towards hopefully something, something more, something deeper. Forward. (Oh so forward. It had begun. Fleur could feel it. Could Hermione? Would there be any ability to turn back now? If so, chances were dwindling.)

Fleur did not pay attention to the designs she was rubbing onto the exposed skin on Hermione's waist, her focus was locked on Hermione, who was looking straight up at her shyly, softly. Part of Fleur wanted to hide the sheer volume of love and tenderness she knew was on her face, but she had hidden it for so long that she didn't have the energy, the effort, the ability. Especially after what Hermione had just told her. Instead of saying anything, she brought her hand up gently cupping Hermione's face. And when Hermione leaned into her touch, sighing? There were no words.

"Thank you for telling me that," the words finally came as her hand dropped to Hermione's hips to hold her closer (when had they stopped walking? She hadn't noticed). This was not a moment for distance. Closer. "It made me very happy to hear it because I feel the same way."

And there wasn't a moment before Hermione lifted herself up to capture Fleur's lips. And it was a kiss that stood apart from the rest. There was no soft beginning, no gentle build up. The tenderness was only an undercurrent to an overlying passion as Hermione deepened the kiss at the moment of contact. Closer. Deeper. The hunger in Fleur threatened like never before to spill over as Hermione's tongue sought hers out. Closer. Hermione's hands grazed Fleur's neck briefly on their way to burying themselves deep in her blonde hair. Fleur tried to find some way, any way for their two bodies to be further enmeshed in the embrace. Intoxicated fully by Hermione. Caught in a moment she never wanted to end. Practically clinging to Hermione's hips. Allowing Hermione to lay claim on her lips. Her mouth. Her tongue… anything she wanted. Closer. Deeper. Forward.

A series of familiar trilling sounds interrupted the kiss. Surprised, the two girls pulled abruptly apart. Fleur was greeted by a small, familiar owl, who looked indignant as he circled overhead. Frowning at the owl's timing, she stepped back from Hermione, trying somehow to calm herself down from the kiss.

"Lothaire? What are you doing here, hm?" She extended her arm to the owl. Now happy at finally being noticed, he trilled and swooped down onto the offered appendage. It would do no good to anger Gabrielle's owl. "Do you enjoy it at Beauxbatons? Have you made many friends?" She clucked the owl underneath the chin as she murmured to him softly. Turning then to a confused Hermione, Fleur smiled and offered an explanation. "Lothaire is Gabrielle's owl. A present from myself on her ninth birthday. Eurasian Pygmy, a small but clever and loyal species. On first seeing him I knew he would fit her best." As if agreeing, the owl trilled and fluffed up. Why couldn't the owl have waited ten more minutes? One more minute? She longed to be back in that kiss, in Hermione's arms.

"You have a letter from Gabrielle then." Fleur could not read Hermione's tone as the brunette spoke, "Do you want me to get it for you?" The girl's words were hesitant as she took a step to be closer to Fleur again.

"Would you?" Fleur smiled, clucking the trilling Lothaire again. She wasn't quite sure why Hermione had asked this, but she was sure her relationship with her sister could be a bit intimidating, especially to an only child. Whatever the motives, Fleur was touched and appreciated the gesture.

She watched silently as Hermione stroked Lothaire slightly on the head, who trilled in response. Fleur almost chuckled softly at Hermione's timid nervousness. The owl looked at Hermione happily as the brunette looked down with a serious expression as she began to untie the letter from the owl's leg. It was an adorable and priceless sight. After Hermione handed Fleur the letter, Fleur could not help but break out into a full smile.

"Lothaire would never attack you, Hermione. He is far too much of a people pleaser for that."

"I didn't know!" And the girl was indignant again, hiding her insecurities behind narrowing (beautiful) brown eyes. "He's Gabrielle's owl. How was I to know she hasn't been talking to him about me? Crookshanks shreds the belongings of people I'm annoyed with if he gets wind of it, I'll have you know."

For whatever reason, Fleur could not help but be amused. "Then I will try to stay on your good side, non? I surely do not want my favorite dress robes shredded."

"Funny."

Fleur did not know what to say, so she unrolled the parchment and quickly glanced over the words, aware of Hermione eyes on hers. She could only imagine what it must be like for Hermione having to deal with Gabrielle's protective antics. Truth be told, though, Hermione had yet to truly experience them… Fleur feared for when that day would occur, doubting that Gabrielle would be able to relinquish even a part of Fleur to Hermione.

As she read, Lothaire, the attention whore, nibbled absently on her robes. She half noticed the destruction the small beast was laying to her sleeve, but she was too engrossed in Gabrielle's (jealous) words to care. She heaved a great sigh as she rolled up the letter. She needed to give it her full attention later and respond, but now she was with Hermione. She jiggled her arm slightly to stop the owl from completely annihilating her outfit. He moved up to her shoulder and thankfully did not resume his destructive activities.

"Gabrielle is pleased to inform me that she has discovered four secret passageways inside of the castle and no one is the wiser," she explained to answer Hermione's silent curiosity, consciously not mentioning the jealous rant at the end of the letter. She shook her head reprovingly and affectionately. "I asked her not to look for trouble so early in the term…"

"She does that often, then? Get into a spot of trouble?"

Fleur loved the English way of speaking, a spot of this, a bit of that… That combined with the idea of what Gabrielle only got herself into as 'a spot of trouble'? She could not help but laugh. Lothaire trilled along with her in agreement. Hermione just looked at her.

"A spot no. I think that is more a vast and endless portal of trouble that Gabrielle finds herself in." She smiled and crossed the small distance between her and Hermione to hook their arms together. They had been standing apart for far too long, she decided. And it was time to continue walking.

"She has not always been a mischief maker, my sister. When she was very young, she was quite shy and did not speak with people, simply observing them." She paused for the briefest of moments, and sighed. "My veela heritage had emerged early, far earlier than most, so she grew up seeing me surrounded by the glazed faces of my admirers. Gabrielle did not like them, nor how they acted not one bit, and it" (her jealousy) "caused her come out of her shell as it were and she proceeded to torture my more obsessive admirers with practical jokes to discourage them from returning."

She shook her head and turned to look at Hermione, trying to find someway to reassure Hermione that this would not happen to her. But even she wasn't sure she could guarantee it, especially from Gabrielle's letter. If anything she could only guarantee the worst.

"My parents are still not sure if her no longer being so shy is a good or bad thing. Mother says that Madame Maxime has already sent three owls to the estate about Gabrielle."

"What has she done?" Fleur could detect the subtle hint of nervousness in Hermione's voice behind her studious curiosity. It was true that Hermione did have a right to worry and research what she was getting herself into. In a way, Fleur and Gabrielle came as a package.

"She put a nasty hex on a boy who insulted our veela bloodline, making his arms and legs transform into tentacles." She started to tick off her fingers as she spoke to illustrate. "Then a classmate in her dormitory apparently dared her to steal the harps of the nymphs who play for us in the main hall while we dine. Of course," she sighed heavily, though she could not hide her amusement from Hermione, "she did not succeed in doing this but she did manage to send the entire school into an uproar when the nymphs revolted on finding a human girl inside their forest. They had Gabrielle hanging from the tips of her toes by the time Madame Maxime arrived."

At this, the two laughed. Hermione leaned up against Fleur and asked, her breath nearly tickling Fleur's bare neck, "Dare I ask what she did on her third round of mischief to get reported to your parents?"

Smirking widely, Fleur spoke slowly, trying to keep control of her senses (and hormones). "I will say only this this, it involves fake rubber wands and Monsieur Beliveau, the spells Professor at Beauxbataons which everyone loathes." Moving in to Hermione, she practically whispered her next in Hermione's ear for the sole purpose of proximity to Hermione. "Perhaps more than Snape is disliked here. Which is quite the task, hm?"

There was a moment of silence where Fleur merely watched Hermione think. At first, she thought it was Hermione trying to figure out exactly what Gabrielle had done, but then, as Hermione's expression changed, she was not so sure. Especially when Hermione exhaled in a manner that could almost be described as a sigh.

"Did Gabrielle mention anything about me?"

Ah yes, of course. Fleur should have realized. "Yes," her eyes looked upward, not sure how to explain. "Hermione… you surely know that Gabrielle is concerned for me and she does not mean what she says. She is over emotional at times." Lothaire, again, seemed to agree with Fleur's description of his owner.

"Fleur, what did she write?" Hermione was suddenly stern and tugged on Fleur's arm. Ah yes, the stubborn Gryffindors. Hermione was never going to let her get off easy or change the subject. She would do well to remember this.

"She is concerned," Fleur repeated and sighed as she stopped walking. Looking directly at Hermione, she placed the letter in her pocket with one hand and caressed Hermione's cheek with the other. It would do no good to repeat Gabrielle's hurtful words. She added quickly, as to stop the protest she knew was forming on Hermione's lips, "Gabrielle is simply worried. She wants me to be treated well and I am." She paused, looking at Hermione trying to catch her eye, before nearly whispering, "I trust you in that. To treat me well."

Perhaps she said too much, because Hermione looked away and Fleur watched Hermione swallow. She did not want to rush her, and had been careful to say anything to put pressure on her, but it would be pointless to hide her trust. She trusted Hermione to be a good person who would make a decision when the time came that would be the right one for Hermione. Fleur merely hoped that she would be part of that right decision when it came. You see there is a difference between trust and hope.


	9. Saturday

Amidst Fleur's well thought out lesson plans, her days were filled with the constant awareness that she was being gossiped about. While this was by no means a new sensation, it now came to the forefront because of her fear of how it would affect Hermione. She was conscious of taking things slowly, of giving Hermione space. And with each passing day the gossip and chatter seemed to dwindle. Fleur thought that she might soon be able to approach Hermione in daylight again. Perhaps, though, in a more private setting so as to not spark off a new bout of rumors. She was thinking on Thursday. Thursdays were usually a good day for her. She, of course, had made that up. But she liked the idea of Thursday.

Hermione, on the other hand, apparently preferred Tuesdays. Or at least, that was the day she decided to show up unexpected at the end of Fleur's last period of the day. Tuesday, unfortunately, was the day Fleur decided to teach Cornish pixies to the first years.

When Hermione arrived, Fleur was standing in a protective bubble with the Gryffindor first years watching the Cornish pixies wreak havoc on her previously neat and tidy classroom. She did not even realize Hermione had entered until the brunette gave a yelp. Fleur turned around just in time to watch the brunette dodge a pixie dive bomb.

"Mademoiselle Granger! How kind of you to join us." Fleur smiled with all her charm and glitter in order to cover her embarrassment from being discovered in such a state. This was not one of her finer teaching moments. "I was about to demonstrate to my students the most clever and easy method to rid ourselves of these winged menaces. Might you have a suggestion?"

And there it was that deep scowl of Hermione. Fleur, at the moment, could only find it endearing (while secretly finding it a reason for concern and anxiety).

Hermione's answered by dodging another attack and pulling out her wand. The moment she performed the  _frizonsnum_  spell the targeted pixie froze and fell heavily (and satisfyingly) to the ground. Fleur noticed the practiced ease with the flick of Hermione's wand, like it was a spell the brunette had performed countless times before.

"Your turn now." Hermione scowled. "I'm sick of dealing with these horrid things. Why in the world did you let them loose?" (Fleur could not help but find Huffy Hermione adorable.)

"Hands on learning for my students. They laughed on seeing the pixies and I felt it best to show them that sometimes it is the tiniest things in life which can cause us the largest amount of trouble." She smiled easily and titled her head to the side with an eyebrow arched. The first years, usually a talkative bunch, watched in silent rapport the exchange between the two women. "You do agree, non?"

"I agree that you ought to be helping me now," Hermione, who had frozen two more pixies over the course of their short exchange and was not having of Fleur's games at the moment.

Unable to hide her disappointment and sighing under her breath, Fleur quickly recovered before turning to her students and smiling. While it was obvious her love life and interplay with Hermione was more interesting than Cornish pixies—a point that Fleur wholeheartedly agreed on—Fleur was not about to have a lesson wasted.

"Well, what do you think, class? Should we help Mademoiselle Granger?" Enthusiastically, the students agreed. "Very good. Take out your wands, raise them high, then swish and say ' _valosios_ ' just as I've shown you."

It took a few minutes of wand fumbling but soon Hermione was (not so valiantly) saved from the Cornish pixie threat. Overall, for a first year lesson, it went well. However, she did not miss the pointed look from Hermione as she lowered the protective bubble around her and the first years.

"It had to be Cornish pixies when I chose to visit you. Why couldn't you have hidden a bogart in here or something else suitable to deal with?" Hermione's tone was dry, but it was in Hermione's underlining tone of amusement where Fleur found hope that the brunette was not coming here to destroy her.

Fleur could only laugh and shake her index finger. "Because, my charming Mademoiselle Granger, bogarts are not until next week. If you had wanted to help with them, you should have consulted my class syllabus, hm?"

"Ah, entirely my fault then." Hermione laughed and then realized that Fleur's entire class had maintained rapt attention on her. Clearing her throat, the Head Girl addressed the younger student in her house. "I trust all of you won't be forgetting the true terror of Cornish pixies anytime soon. I know that I've never quite gotten over it."

The Gryffindor first years just stared at their housemate. (Was this what it was like in the dormitory for Hermione?) But then class was over and Fleur quickly explained the homework and dismissed the class, but like always students were loath to leave so quickly. Hermione watched silently as Fleur cleared out the classroom with polite grace. (How many times would she empty a room for Hermione? Hopefully countless times over a long time.)

"Thank you for coming," Fleur smiled shyly, afraid to say more of what was on her mind until she knew Hermione's motives for the sudden appearance. With a flick of her hand, she flicked the frozen and stunned pixies back into their cages.

"I wanted to," Hermione shrugged self-consciously. "I just wish that I had known your lesson plan was Cornish pixies. I would have waited outside."

"The first years were overwhelmed." Fleur smiled softly, after quickly performing a few tidying spells on the classroom. Truth was, they were less overwhelmed before Hermione came but that hardly mattered. "Your help is truly appreciated."

Hermione took a few steps closer to Fleur. "Glad I could help."

"I as well." Fleur paused, wanting to reach out and touch Hermione. Instead she frowned slightly. "I know this will seem rude of me but I am sorry to say I have an appointment in the hospital wing. One that Madam Pomfrey would be most upset if I were to avoid."

"Oh. Right." Hermione nodded, as if suddenly remembering. "Are they every day?"

Fleur only nodded as she tried to read the expression on Hermione's face. At the moment, it was incredibly difficult. It was obvious that mention of Fleur's illness had made Hermione somewhat uncomfortable. But there was something more. Hermione bit her lip, closed her eyes, and exhaled. It was obvious she wanted to say something and was finding it hard. Fleur's stomach turned flips out of anxiety. (Say it.)

"Can… can I walk with you there?" was what finally came out of Hermione's mouth. Fleur was sure this was not what Hermione was trying to say, but this would have to do for now.

"I would be pleased if you did," Fleur smiled. "Allow me to gather my things?"

Not waiting for Hermione's nod, Fleur quickly moved to her desk and gathered up her things into her bag. She was missing a book from the Cornish pixie disturbance, but she was not in the mood to look for it. Instead, she only made a mental note to look for it after her appointment as she turned around to face the brunette.

"Shall we?" She tipped her head to the side.

Hermione crossed distance between them and shyly slipped her hand into Fleur's. "I think we shall."

It was gestures like this that made Fleur feel silly for being so fearful of Hermione. But Hermione had so much power over her… and the girl did not even know it, not fully, not yet. And hopefully not for a long time.

So the two women made their way, hand in hand, to the hospital wing. It took longer than usual, as Fleur was conscious of avoiding the more popular hallways. Hermione talked about her week so far, her classes, and a story involving some annoying first years and something stupid Ron did.

"You are close with Monsieur Weasley?" Fleur asked as casually as she could, not daring to look at Hermione.

"He and Harry are like brothers. Besides Ginny, I didn't really have any friends who were girls until this year. Lavender and Parvati used to be too giggly and boy crazy for me, which is funny considering…" Hermione trailed off as she turned to look fully at Fleur. "Fleur, why did you ask that?" Hermione stopped walking and looked directly at Fleur.

Fleur, blushing despite her best efforts not to, shifted her weight as she avoided Hermione's curious gaze. "I just wish to know more of your friends, more of your life outside of the classroom." She shrugged, trying to seem casual. "It is nothing, silliness really."

"You heard the rumors." Hermione stated blankly.

"They are rather prominent," Fleur met Hermione's gaze, not sure where this sudden spark of defiance came from. Perhaps it came from the fact that Hermione simply did not understand her feelings. Although she could not fault the brunette for that entirely. Fleur had not explained everything… could not explain everything.

Not yet.

Hermione started to laugh. Fleur wanted to laugh along but she could not, especially when she felt sure that she was the one being laughed at.

"Fleur, don't be ridiculous. This is Ron we're talking about. He's like a brother to me, really Fleur." And then Hermione's face returned to a level of quiet seriousness. "I mean, he might have fancied me at some point but I… I could never return his feelings." Herminone's eyes glistened with what Fleur had originally fallen in love with as they found Fleur's. "You don't need to worry about Ron. He's…. I like you too much." (Forward.)

Fleur was silent for a moment, lost on Hermione's face, trying to hold onto those last five words for as long as possible.

"I… I am quite fond of you as well." When Fleur finally found her voice the understatement of her lifetime slid between her lips. It was too early for the whole truth, for I love you.

And then someone turned the corner. Quickly, the two girls started walking again. It was silent for a few moments before Fleur filled in the silence with a funny story from a class a few days before. This reminded Hermione of a story from her second year. And so they spent the rest of the walk exchanging stories. When they had reached the hospital wing, both they were clutching onto each other in laughter over the time when Fleur, while learning the  _accio_  charm, had accidentally  _accio_ 'd the professor's hairpiece.

"Well," Fleur spoke as she recovered from laughter, "we have finally arrived. I will see you soon?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip and pausing deliberately. Fleur was sure that if she were not holding one of Hermione's hands, the brunette would be wringing them. There was still something Hermione wanted to say (Say it.)

"How about… what about… I mean, only if you want to, I was thinking perhaps… sometime we could… you know, maybe…"

"Hermione." Fleur found it incredibly cute that Hermione was stammering and staring nervously at the ground. However, Fleur had an appointment and Pomfrey had horrible timing. She did not want Pomfrey to open the door and interrupt Hermione from what she assumed was about to happen. Who knows when Hermione would find the courage again?

"Fleur?" Hermione looked up.

"I would love to."

"You… you would?" Hermione paused and looked confused. "I mean, great. That's great. Go on a date, you mean?"

Fleur smiled and nodded. "That is what I am agreeing to, yes."

"Saturday?"

"Saturday would be lovely."

"Great." Hermione's eyes scanned the vicinity and deciding there was no danger of other people, leaned in for a quick kiss. "I'll make everything perfect. See you on Saturday!"

Before Fleur could respond, Hermione had already dashed off. The French woman simply stood there for a moment longer, her mouth partly open as she stared off in the direction where Hermione once stood with such charming nervousness. As if Fleur would ever refuse a date with her.

A few moments later Pomfrey opened the door.

"Well, there you are. You had me worried that you fainted or something." And then Pomfrey noticed Fleur's expression of wonderment. When she spoke again, she spoke slowly. "Fleur, are you okay?"

When Fleur turned around to fully look at her, Pomfrey realized that Fleur was indeed more than okay.


	10. A Move Backwards

Fleur was not sure what she was expecting to happen between Tuesday and Saturday, but somehow she imagined something different. Something more. Something that involved more of her and Hermione together perhaps. Being in the same room at the same time outside of class would have been nice for a start.

As the week progressed, however, she rarely saw Hermione outside of class. In class Hermione's eyes would follow Fleur and blush when their eyes would meet. The brunette would give every sign of being interested. But after class? In between classes? That was the problem. (Backwards.)

Hermione's classmates flocked around Fleur with a deeper commitment and with more sheer determination than ever before, still confused over why she had chosen Hermione over them. And Hermione? She was once again perfecting the art of the quick escape. Except now she had Lavender and Parvati tightly in tow.

In fact, Hermione seemed to never be without the Gryffindor couple at her side. And they were always speaking in urgent and thoughtful whispers and looking around with watchful, paranoid eyes. Whenever Fleur approached, all conversation would cease immediately. Lavender and Parvati would look uncomfortable; Hermione would become incredibly shy and blush. The three Gryffindor girls would barely be able to get an intelligible word out and when they did, it was awkward. The whole situation was infuriating.

On Thursday afternoon, by chance, Fleur came across Lavender and Parvati in the library without Hermione. She tried to ask them why Hermione was avoiding her, but they merely insisted in determined whispers that they simply were not going to tell her any details of her upcoming date. Exasperated and confused, Fleur tried to explain that that was not what she was asking, but it was impossible. They would only repeat that they would not betray Hermione's confidences and tell her anything. Fleur soon gave up.

* * *

Life in England was not the easiest for Fleur. And life at Hogwarts was even harder. And in the end, it was not the rain, the food, or the many things she had on her long list of things that made England inferior to France. No. It was the overwhelming loneliness. At least, when working at Gringotts she still had Philippe, obnoxious as he could be at times. (Not that they were speaking to each other at the moment…).

But at Hogwarts?

She had no one. Not in the sense that she could talk to anyone about her situation with Hermione. Sure, she and Pomfrey joked and teased each other, but their relationship was proscribed within the doctor patient boundaries. She simply could not feel entirely comfortable about opening her heart to the person in charge of her health. And while she and Minerva were becoming friendly on some level, Minerva was… well, Minerva McGonagall. She was a woman that commanded respect, not confessions of a young heart. Fleur was barely able to call her by her first name. And Dumbledore? Dumbledore was Dumbledore. In her loneliness she often owled home. Afraid of worrying her parents and Gabrielle, however, she was conscious to restrain the amount of owls she sent every week and censored what she wrote.

And maybe this was normal, avoiding the person before your date. Fleur did not know and did not have anyone to ask. Not that she would know how to ask. People simply assumed that since she was part veela and French that she was automatically an expert in love. She wished they didn't assume such nonsense. It made things so much harder for her. All Fleur wanted to know was why Hermione seemed to be avoiding her all of a sudden and would never leave Lavender and Parvati's sides. Was a moment alone too much to ask? Again, she did not know. (She hoped not. It was not like they were about to get married. It was only a date.)

Only a date.

As the week progressed, she became increasingly anxious. Her condition, which had been relatively stable and actually starting to improve ever so slightly, took a slight downturn much to Pomfrey's displeasure. Backwards. Fleur tried to reassure Pomfrey that this was natural, but she herself did not know. She clung to hope so tightly she was afraid it would slip from between her fingertips.

* * *

On Thursday night, a few hours after her frustrating experience with Lavender and Parvati, Fleur could not stand it any longer. She had been reviewing the same lesson plan over and over for the last hour and had made no change. In fact she had barely acknowledged the words in front of her. She had to get out. She had to leave, to move. To do something to distract her.

So that is how she found herself at the Three Broomsticks. Having never been on a weeknight, she was surprised that it was relatively empty and occupied by an older, calmer group instead of the youthful, bustling crowd she was used to. In the slower setting, Fleur was able, for the first time, to really get a good look at the famous Madam Rosmerta.

Rosmerta's curly, brown hair was similar to Hermione's though Hermione's was darker. Fleur wondered absently if Hermione's hair would look as nice in a bun as Rosmerta's. It probably would, but for some reason she did not think that hairstyle would fit Hermione. A ponytail, yes. But somehow such a tight bun that almost reached ballerina level was not quite fitting. Though the girl could most definitely pull it off. When Rosmerta came by to refill Fleur's glass, Fleur, a little tipsy, could barely help but to speak.

"You are beautiful." And then Fleur looked down at her glass, her voice quieter as she added, "But not nearly so much as my Hermione."

"Your Hermione?" Rosmerta raised an eyebrow, apparently not finding offense in Fleur's comment.

"Mine." And then Fleur shook her head and scoffed at herself. "I should not say such things. She is not mine. If anything, I am hers." Quiet for a moment, she watched herself trace the edge of her wine glass with the tip of her index finger. "Although I do not think she wants me. After all, she has avoided me for days now." She took a long drink and then muttered, "After she asked me out." When Fleur looked up at Rosmerta, she discovered the woman was now leaning on the bar, listening attentively. Suddenly finding herself with an audience, she repeated her exasperation, " _She_ asked  _me_!"

"Well that doesn't seem very fair of her," Rosmerta carefully studied Fleur as she whisked away a stray hair that had wandered across her face.

Before Fleur could respond a large man with fat, red fingers sat down next to her and offered to buy her a drink.

"I am touched truly but I am afraid I already have a drink and will not be in need of another."

The man continued to stare, and Fleur was sure that if she looked at him directly there might actually be drool. Her veela charms had hit him to a near catatonic state. Lovely. Fleur groaned inwardly.

"You're pretty. I'd like to take you for a spin."

He did not just say that. He did. And he looked like he was about to say something else. Fleur cringed inwardly, waiting, trying her best to ignore him.

"Thomas, you're drunk and bothering my customer," Rosmerta crossed her arms glaring at Thomas.

"Ah, Rosmerta, ain't I your customer?" he whined. "And you two are just so pretty. Can't I just watch? I won't say nothing, promise."

"Not if you ever want to be served here again. It's time to go home to your kids." Her tone, while affectionate, was unquestionably firm as she pointed towards the door. He groaned and pouted, like a small child sent to bed. "Thomas, it's time. Good night."

"Fine," he stood up and plodded off. "G'night Rosmerta and her pretty little friend."

Fleur showed no sign of hearing anything as she took another sip of wine.

"You get that a lot." It was a casual observation.

Fleur shrugged absently, "I am part veela. There are things that simply cannot be helped." She was suddenly missing the generally more shy and less rude style of the teenage boys at Hogwarts.

"In my bar, it can be helped." Rosmerta looked at her seriously, her eyes silently promising.

Fleur smiled, relieved at the promise, relieved that Rosmerta was immune (but then, men were often more susceptible….

Rosmerta did not lose a beat. Or a conversation thread. "Is Hermione the girl that ran after you a few Saturdays ago, the close friend of Harry Potter?"

Fleur swished her wine around in her glass. (Why was the wine always better in France?) "Oui."

"You're a bold one, I will give you that."

"Boldness, I am afraid, is not something that is involved in this affair," Fleur sighed as she brought the wine glass to her lips. In fact, her parents continued to tell her that she was being rather too shy at times. All the time.

Rosmerta leaned across the bar, having caught onto some truth that lingered on Fleur as she looked on with soft, understanding eyes. "You really love her don't you?"

Fleur stared longingly into her glass for a moment before taking another sip, whispering, "you could not understand," more to her wine than Rosmerta.

"People are often amazed by my powers of comprehension. Why not explain it to me?" She cocked an eyebrow, refusing to be insulted by the Frenchwoman. "Is this a veela thing?"

"That is an adequate manner of explaining it, I suppose, yes," she responded slowly, continuing to stare into her wine and wishing it tasted more like the wine from her grandfather's vineyards. For some reason she was scared to look at Rosmerta. (For some reason, she was opening up to a near complete stranger.) Her words were quiet, bare whispers uttered only loud enough for Rosmerta to hear (and she had to strain).

"I love her because I love her. It has nothing to do with me being part veela. But it is because I am veela that I love her as I do. But she cannot know this… not yet. It would surely frighten her." By the end, her voice had turned hoarse. She was showing too much. Fleur stopped talking and emptied her glass, placing gently back onto the bar.

In response, Rosmerta merely snorted. Fleur jerked her head up, surprised. How could someone as beautiful as Rosmerta make such a crass noise? But when she looked up, Rosmerta was grinning widely. "You're full of angst, aren't you?"

"What?" Fleur blinked, confused and stunned.

"She'll never love me, woe, suffering, doom," the other woman chuckled as she wiped her hands on her skirt. She continued to speak as she began to search through her stock in front of her for another bottle of wine for Fleur. Through Fleur could barely see the woman, Rosmerta's voice floated up from behind the bar. "How do you know she'll get so damn frightened if you don't tell the girl anything? Let me tell you, she didn't seem a lick scared when she chased after you."

Fleur opened her mouth to protest, to explain, but Rosmerta stood up and shook her head at Fleur. "That girl has faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Deatheaters, and other various forms of Dark Magic and things that would make most people's hair curl." To call Rosmerta's look a sardonic one would be not far from the truth. "And you think your skinny, blonde, blue eyed, beautiful self is going to scare her off with love?" She shook her skirt free of dust as she continued to speak. "I understand that love is the scariest thing in the world, but you still have to explain this one to me."

"I do not understand how she could not be scared when I am absolutely frightened myself. When I fell in love with her three years ago, I fell ill at the same time. The only cure is to bond with her magically for life. It is something that is scary to me and I grew up knowing that this would happen." She sighed, watching Rosmerta pour her another glass of wine. She should protest. She didn't need another glass. Her system could not handle alcohol well, not in her condition. "I cannot understand how she would not be scared when she asks me out on a date and then ignores me from that moment on."

"Nerves for one, not fear." Rosmerta shook her head. "She just asked her fit professor out on a date. If I was her, I'd be nervous and shy as hell."

Fleur continued to swish the wine in her glass, trying anything to improve its taste before bringing it up to her lips again. "How am I supposed to know these things?"

"You tell me. What have your friends been telling you?" But the look on Fleur's face answered Rosmerta's question. "You have no one here, do you?"

"I am new here and being part veela can add some difficulty to forming friendships, as one can imagine." Fleur tried to look and sound stoic, but knew she was probably failing on all accounts. "People assume that because I am French, because I am veela…. But I am as clueless as the next, if not more so. To be with anyone besides Hermione… it is unheard of, unspeakable, unimaginable." The false start with Bill was shameful and something she could never tell her parents. "I am going into this inexperienced and alone." She took a long sip of her wine.

"Oh, luv…" Rosmerta reached out and touched Fleur's hand. Her eyes were compassionate and caring. "It should not have to be like that."

Fleur arched an eyebrow up in the most playful gesture she could manage. "Are you hitting on me, Madame Rosmerta?"

Rosmerta feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically on her chest and another hand artfully on her forehead. "Oh, heaven forbid. I already know it would be pointless. I could never compare to _your Hermione_."

Fleur smiled weakly, sadly.

"Cheer up, eh? I am sure she is just nervous and will come around. Trust me, I know a few things about love. Take it from an expert. Well... sort of expert."

* * *

In the morning, Fleur woke up to a pounding headache, a horrible taste in her mouth, and a vague but persistent sense of nausea. Groggy and groaning, she made her way to her first class, a double period with the seventh years. Fleur stumbled through the best she could, relying heavily on class participation. When class finally ended, Hermione lingered behind, locked in a conversation of rushed but quiet words with Lavender and Parvarti. From the corner of her eye, as she was swarmed by her fan club, Fleur watched the couple leave with the last of their classmates giving Hermione some form of encouraging looks. Fleur, for the purpose of her pride, pretended not to notice those looks.

"Hi," Hermione smiled shyly after the door had closed.

"Bonjour." Fleur smiled quietly, warily back. Hermione had too much power over her. It made her uncomfortable.

"How are you?"

"My night was a little unforgiving in the morning, if I am to be honest," Fleur answered as she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned up against her desk. "And on that vein…" She trailed off as she pulled her satchel to her side and rummaged through it until she dug out a small vial. The small swig she took was in a manner more appropriate to sipping wine than taking a potion. It was a motion, an action she was well practiced in. But as soon as the taste hit her tongue, her face contorted momentarily. She shook her head as if to shake off the taste. Fleur didn't know how it was possible that this tasted worst than Pomfrey's potion.

Hermione tipped her head to the side, confused, but too shy to ask.

"A potion from Madam Rosmerta," Fleur offered in a way of explanation. She had woken up that morning with an owl outside her window bearing a few small vials labeled 'just in case' and instructions on how to take what when. An accompanying note expressed that Rosmerta was there for her if she ever needed to talk again. Fleur was both embarrassed by spilling her soul the night before and incredibly touched by the woman's tact and offered friendship.

"Should you be taking a potion outside of Pomfrey's supervision?" Hermione looked concerned, if not slightly alarmed. Why was Rosmerta giving Fleur potions?

"This potion is… unrelated, as one would say, hm?" She sighed, not really sure how much she actually wanted to tell Hermione. "Embarrassing as it is, this is hangover cure."

"Fleur!"

Fleur raised her hand up in the air, as if to silence Hermione.

"It is not what you think. Due to my condition, I am more sensitive to the more insufferable after affects of alcohol. It is nothing really. I was feeling a bit lonely and went out. I had one glass of wine too many while talking with Madame Rosmerta. " Fleur found herself almost feeling mad. Why did she have to explain herself? She had done nothing wrong. But here was Hermione looking at her with this mixture of shock and judgment. The Gryffindor had nerve. "Nothing of consequence occurred. It is just an unfortunate headache."

"Rosmerta?" And then there was that look of jealousy across Hermione's face. And a scowl. "Did you bond over how everyone falls for both of you?"

"In a way we did, yes." Fleur crossed her arms, frustrated beyond belief. She knew she should have said something else but Hermione was being absolutely insufferable.

"I bet she understands you so well and you guys are perfect together."

While Fleur could not miss the pain and insecurity overwhelming Hermione's voice, it was still too much. Fleur's breath caught, and she closed her eyes in pain. She wanted to scream. Why could Hermione not understand? When she opened her eyes again, her hands were gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white. She was fighting back the urge to cry, to scream.

"Hermione, that is quite unfair." She struggled to keep her tone even. "You have Monsieur Weasley, Ginny, Harry, Lavender and Parvati. You have all these friends to talk to. And who do I have here, Hermione, hm?" (Besides you.) "I have no friends here, none. Just owls to and from home. Do not begrudge me for reaching out and trying to make a friend. Especially," her body was nearly shaking from holding in her pain and anger as she spoke. To center herself, she repeated herself. "Especially after you have ignored me all week. You ask me out, promptly avoided me, and now attack me for trying to find someone to talk to? Rosmerta is a friend. She is nothing compared to you. I-…" She cut herself off. She could not say I love you, not like this. "You mean so much to me." She sighed warily. "What do you want me to do? Honestly Hermione. There is only so much loneliness I can stand." In the end, her voice seeped of quiet, restrained sadness.

Suddenly, the look on Hermione's face softened. Where there once was judgment and anger, now emerged compassion and hints of guilt.

"I'm being a prat again. I'm sorry." Hermione's voice was tender with apology. Crossing the space between them, she shyly, hesitantly tucked a hair behind Fleur's ear, tracing a line of desire across Fleur's temple. "How is the hangover? Is it better?"

"Oui," Fleur exhaled her relief, closing her eyes to the touch, wishing, praying for Hermione to lean in and kiss her.

"You're so beautiful," Hermione whispered softly.

And when Fleur opened her eyes, Hermione was looking at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine and made her stomach jump. Any words left lingering on Fleur's lips were swallowed by a soft, tender kiss. It ended quickly, but the softness behind it was more than enough in that moment.

"I have to run to class, but I'll see you tomorrow. And I'll try not to tease you about being hung over while teaching. See you around five thirty?" Hermione's words were underlined with a loving tenderness that was new to Fleur's ears. A new reason to hope. (Forward again?)

Fleur nodded, "Five thirty would be lovely. And please do not inform the other students."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"About the hang over." Fleur clarified playfully. "It is dreadfully embarrassing."

And then the door opened and a wave of third years flooded into the classroom. Hermione stepped back and walked away. "For that, I cannot guarantee or promise anything." Hermione winked, whispering a good bye before leaving the classroom.


	11. Breathing

Saturday.

Nothing could occupy Fleur's attention for long. As the day wore on, she was increasingly more nervous about her upcoming date. While she had planned a productive morning of errands and an afternoon of grading, she soon realized that she would get nothing done. And it seemed silly. They had already kissed. Several times. But it was a date. This was different.

First of all, she had no idea what Hermione had in mind or what their date would entail. Dinner obviously. But where would they be eating? And would they do anything after? Fleur simply had no idea what to expect. She had never been on a date before. (She and Bill did not do that kind of thing. Or much of anything, really. She always sort of suspected that he was also gay, although she did not have any substantial proof).

This unknowing had a serious problem: she did not know what to wear. How could she be sure she wouldn't be under or overdressed? Or otherwise inappropriately dressed? (What was Hermione wearing? She needed to know desperately.)

So Fleur spent a better part of the day trying on countless outfits, showering, primping, and remembering to breath. It was a little after five when she finally decided on a simple, yet elegant dress. Spinning around in front of the mirror, she approved of how it flattered her body. Sexy but classy. The color brought out her eyes (like her nail polish, which she did in the morning). Wearing only the faintest traces of make up, she managed to be fully ready by the time Hermione knocked on her door (at 5:37, not that her eyes were locked to the clock).

It took every ounce of grace in Fleur's being not to rush to the door. Exhaling (remember to breath) she answered the door with her trademark, if a little shy, smile.

"Bonjour."

But no sooner than the words had left her mouth, her breath was swept away. Hermione was standing shyly before her, shifting her weight foot from foot, holding a single, white flower. Fleur did not know the name, but in that moment it was the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. (Seeing Hermione now, she suddenly clearly saw the girl moments before working up the courage to knock. Somehow she knew, in a way that she could not explain it, that this was exactly how it happened. Forward.)

"Hi," Hermione responded shyly as she stepped forward, extending out her arm offering the flower. "This… this is for you."

Fleur crossed the distance between them and gently took the flower, careful to brush her hand over Hermione's. She could feel her energy enwrap Hermione as she whispered a throaty thank you into the other girl's ear. As she pulled away, brushing her cheek up against Hermione, the brunette caught her lips in a soft, quick but hungry kiss. Wanting to deepen it, she stepped backwards instead.

"Let me put this in water?" She tipped her head towards the door and stepped inside with Hermione silently behind.

As Fleur walked into the kitchen, she caught the breathtaking sight of Hermione in the hallway mirror. The Gryffindor looked absolutely stunning. Her hair was pulled up and away from her face. And underneath her cloak, Hermione was dressed in a pair of fashionable, form-fitting pants and a shirt whose sweeping neckline both invited Fleur's eye but left almost all up to the imagination. (And imagine she did.) Searching her cupboards for an adequate vase, she could not help but wonder if Hermione had spent the better part of her day getting ready as well.

Their conversation was light, shy, and mostly nervous. They had talked before, true, and in theory, this should not be anything different. But it was. This was a date. It was a nerve-wracking experience, to be honest. (Had Hermione gone on a date with Viktor? Did the Winter Ball count? Were there others?) Fleur soon found an appropriate vase and placed the flower into it.

"Thank you, again, for the flower." She smiled warmly. "Shall we?"

The two woman walked hand in hand down the road to Hogsmeade. As winter had finally begun, the cold gave Fleur the perfect excuse to move in closer to Hermione as they made their way to town.

"So, my dear Hermione, are we planning on divulging tonight's secrets anytime soon?"

"Never." Hermione grinned playfully and leaned further into Fleur.

"Ah, I suppose I will simply have to trust you," Fleur sighed playfully as she dramatically ran her hand through her hair.

In response, Hermione squeezed Fleur's hand. The gesture caught Fleur's attention, drawing her eyes downward. It was then she noticed a small square object in Hermione's pocket and arched an eyebrow up in curiosity. She highly doubted that it was a wallet, as Hermione had a small purse.

"What?" Hermione, noticing the eyebrow, turned to Fleur with confusion nervously.

"I am simply wondering what is in your pocket."

"Nothing." Hermione turned (a bright shade of red) red and put a hand over the mysteriously object in her back pocket. In doing so, she accidentally knocked the object just enough out of her pocket for Fleur to catch a quick glimpse of it.

"Hermione… is that a notebook?"

"… Maybe."

"Hermione, why did you bring a notebook on our date?" Sometimes Fleur simply could not understand this girl.

"I was studying earlier and must have left it in my pocket," Hermione shrugged as a way of explanation, but she was still blushing.

"I see." Fleur did not believe Hermione for a second. She was blushing too deep a red and she highly doubted this is what Hermione would wear while studying, even on a Saturday.

"Well, if someone did not assign so much homework…"

"Ah, and it begins. Please do not inform me that you only asked me out tonight only to have a serious discussion about your workload in my class." Fleur feigned a hurt expression.

"Among other things, of course."

"Other things?" Once again, Fleur's eyebrow arched up.

"Secret other things," Hermione shook her head and put a finger to lips in a shushing gesture.

"Secret other things, hm? I hope that I am supposed to enjoy the sound that," Fleur continued to tease as she squeezed Hermione's hand.

But despite Fleur's teasing, Hermione quickly proved that she was taking the date quite seriously. The chosen restaurant, Accio Spice, was off the beaten path of Hogwarts students. It, however, was not off the beaten path for Hogsmeade residents and Fleur was thankful for Hermione making reservations.

Fleur put down the menu almost immediately after picking it up and looked at Hermione. She had never been here before and did not realize how expensive it was. Money was not a concern for her: not only was she a Delacour, but she was an adult with a job. Hermione was still a student and Fleur could only surmise that the Grangers were of a bit more modest means.

"I wanted to take you someplace nice," Hermione caught her look and cut off any protest. "You deserve to be taken someplace nice, especially after how I treated you."

"Hermione this is not necessary, really. I do not want you to feel like—"

"Fleur," Hermione interrupted. Her face was full of sheer determination. "I wanted to take you here."

Fleur nodded reluctantly, realizing there was no point to protest. Hermione was stubborn.

"I wanted to take you someplace nice and to apologize for being impossible at times. I haven't always been the nicest to you, I know that. I think I spent the entirety of the first month this term being absolutely rude you. And I want you know that… that I did not mean it, not really. I was confused, and jealous and… and I guess this is me telling you that I'd rather smile at you. With you really." (Forward.)

Fleur, for a moment, forgot how to breathe. And so Hermione continued, not waiting for her to remember or respond. "And I know this must seem… all mixed messages because I avoided you all week and now I'm saying this. But I didn't consciously mean to avoid you. I'm sorry, I really am. I was nervous and got caught up in planning the date. I just… well, I wanted this to be perfect." And she finished with an exhale as if she had been holding in all her breath as she spoke.

"I..." Fleur spoke after recovering her breath, her voice. "Thank you." And in her voice, she fully articulated her appreciation, her thankfulness, her need for that apology, her genuine acceptance. She did not think that this would make things automatically better, but this was a start. She liked starts. She liked starts a lot.

The waiter came by, interrupting the pounding of Fleur's heart, informing of them of the specials and asking if they were ready. They weren't. They hadn't even opened the menus yet.

* * *

At first, dinner was rich with awkward pauses. But as the meal progressed (and Fleur had a small glass of wine), the conversation flowed more easily. In a comfortable pause in the conversation, Fleur's peacefully watched the candle flicker. However she did not miss Hermione, as she seemed to reach into her pocket and look at something. She arched her eyebrow, but before she could say anything, Hermione exhaled under her breath.

"God, this is harder than I thought."

"Hm?" Fleur looked up, suddenly her heart pounding.

"Maybe not harder. But… different."

"Being with a woman?" Her voice was low.

"Being a date. Somehow it's just different."

"In comparison to what?"

"I don't know. How I imagined a date would be like. I mean, for starters it was…" and then Hermione became quiet.

"With a man?"

Hermione shrugged almost guiltily.

"When I was younger, I used to imagine an older man with a hairless chest and glistening eyes." Fleur leaned back against her chair as she spoke and laughed quietly at herself. Hermione had those eyes (and as far as she knew, Hermione's chest was hairless).

"Really? I mean… you didn't… when did you know?" Hermione's face was filled with relief and curiosity. Fleur did not know what Hermione had thought, but whatever she thought, it obviously did not match with what she had just said.

"When I was seventeen."

"How… I mean, how did you figure it out?"

Fleur looked directly into Hermione's eyes and leaned forward across the table, "I saw you."

Hermione was stunned, breathless. "Really?"

"This is the first date that I have ever been on," Fleur smiled shyly, feeling her cheeks turn a brilliant red. "This is different for me as well."

And that is when the dessert arrived.

* * *

Fleur thought this was a dinner date, but Hermione informed her that this was a Saturday night and she had something else planned. And then Hermione looked at her and Hermione added, "that is, if you still wanted to." Fleur was not ready for the night to be over, so she smiled. That was when Hermione informed her that they would have to do some traveling.

On the Knight Bus—arguably the worst English invention to date—Fleur clutched on for dear life, she discovered that Hermione seemed to hate it more than she did.

"I truly believe the Ministry should look into better transportation options. With all the magic in the world, there is a distinct lack of comfortable modes of magical transportation." Fleur could not help but laugh as Hermione spoke unhappily. "Like flying brooms for instance." And there began a rant that lasted the entire bus ride.

* * *

And Fleur had to admit, she was impressed by the amount of research Hermione had done. And she began to understand why she was spending so much time with Lavender and Parvati. She had managed to find one of the only few lesbian witch bars in all of England.

Fleur stood outside, looking at the sign and hearing the music permeate from within, she held onto Hermione's hand, inwardly reluctant to enter.

"Come on," Hermione smiled at her as she reached out her hand.

"You do not need to do this, you know," (prove your attraction to me) "we could just…" (go back to my place and… what? Talk about the weather?) Fleur spoke slowly.

But Hermione wanted to go in. They had traveled all this way, after all, and in the Knight Bus no less. So they went in.

Inside, it was similar enough to the only other gay bar Fleur had gone to. The bar was dimly lit and packed with witches. Fleur turned to say something to Hermione, who was squeezing her hand rather tightly, but changed her mind on seeing the younger woman's face. The Gryffindor had a look on her face that clearly showed that she, however, had never been to a lesbian bar. The poor girl looked overwhelmed. And it was an overwhelming crowd of witches, every shape, size and variety. There were femmes, others looked more like they were twelve-year-old boys, and some even had facial hair. They were talking, yelling, leering, flirting, dancing, buying each other's drinks, making out (among other things). And all in a relatively small space occupied by a bar, some tables, and a dancing floor. Hermione looked down at the floor and breathed. Fleur squeezed Hermione's hand and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"You know," Fleur whispered into Hermione's ear, "we could…"

"We could get a drink. Do you want one?" Hermione turned to look at Fleur, her face determined to stay.

"Actually, I would prefer to dance with you at the moment."

Hermione nodded shakily and followed Fleur out onto the dance floor. Hermione's eyes did not leave Fleur. While flattered, Fleur was pretty sure it was in part because Hermione was having difficulty adjusting to the large quantity of lesbians. (Baby steps, Hermione, baby steps.)

But Fleur could not also deny that the minute she walked in, eyes were turning, staring, drooling. She needed to establish that she was Hermione's, that their affections did not matter to her. And maybe that was what was overwhelming poor Hermione, a room full of lesbians and most of them looking at (fixated on) Fleur.

At first, the dancing was awkward. How far, how close were they comfortable dancing? How did the other one dance, move, and inhabit the space? But on the dance floor, Fleur could never feel awkward for long. She could feel the beat, the rhythm (her love) flow through her and she let herself go.

As the music played, it became to seem only increasingly natural that they move into each, to dance more and more with each other. On the pretense of whispering a comment about the music into Hermione's ear, Fleur moved into the brunette's body. And when Hermione responded by placing her hand on the small of Fleur's back? It was there Fleur stayed moving with the rhythm, moving with Hermione. Forward. She could feel the beat of Hermione's heart as if it was the beat of the music. And they moved further into each other, until it was only their clothes and the music in between them.

* * *

Fleur tired easily, an awkward reminder of her condition. Leaving the dance floor, she sat down as Hermione went to get drinks. She watched Hermione go up to the bar. While waiting for the drinks, Hermione pulled something out of her pocket and was looking at it. It was too crowded for Fleur to see what it was, but she had her guesses.

Fleur leaned her head back, closed her eyes and exhaled, clinging to the ephemeral feeling of Hermione's body against hers. When she opened her eyes again, there was someone besided her and she was not Hermione.

"Mind if I sit?" But the woman, who looked like a poorly dressed fourteen-year-old boy, was already sitting.

Fleur merely perked up an eyebrow, her eyes darting around looking for Hermione. Still leaning against the bar, waiting, looking at something.

"Not to be forward or anything but-…"

"Then please, for both our sakes, do not." Fleur crossed her arms. Her whole body language was of intense disinterest, but the other woman was too drunk to notice.

"Just one dance. That's all I ask. A dance couldn't hurt a fly."

"I am afraid that I cannot. I came here with someone." Fleur glared.

"Beautiful, all I'm asking for is one dance. I won't even ask for a kiss or a smile. Just a dance."

"I apologize that you are wasting your time. I only dance with Hermione."

The other woman seemed to hold back a laugh. "I can hardly believe that. That little girl of yours, really? Here, give Lolita a little breather. Let me show you what a real woman can do."

"I hardly doubt that a real woman say such a thing to someone else's girlfriend," Hermione stepped up next to Fleur. She placed a hand (possessively) on Fleur's shoulder. Girlfriend. Fleur moved into Hermione's touch.

The older woman stood up, placing her arms up in gesture of innocence. "Whoa, excuse me. We were just having a little chat."

"Likely." Hermione scowled as the woman walked back towards the bar.

Fleur sighed and buried her face into her hand in a sign of exasperation. "I apologize for that, I truly do. If possible I would turn off my veela charms entirely. They accomplish nothing but unwanted scenes."

Hermione bent down and kissed Fleur's temple. "Just as long as you know I'm cuter."

Fleur turned and faced her Hermione, capturing her lips in what only began as simple, quick kiss. But it soon opened up further, deeper, leaving the two almost gasping for breath, wanting more.

"Shall we leave now?"

Hermione only nodded.

* * *

As both Fleur and Hermione could not handle the Knights Bus again, Fleur suggested that they Side-along Apparate back into Hogsmeade (she too had read  _Hogwarts, A History_ ). Once there, Fleur offered to walk Hermione back to Hogwarts. She caught the look of disappointment flash across Hermione's face, but she knew that this was for the best. Patience in all things. Patience in one thing.

They walked closely, resting into each other's bodies, no longer needing the cold weather as an excuse. Proximity and touch was becoming natural, as if this was how it had always been. As if they could not remember a time when they had not walked side by side without their bodies interlaced.

Fleur had barely stopped in front of the Hogwarts entrance before Hermione placed her hand on Fleur's cheek. There was no shy hesitation in this kiss, no slow beginnings. It burned with passion, with hunger even before their lips touched. Their tongues danced as their hands became brave. Fleur found herself pressed up against the large door, completely overwhelmed and desperately clinging to any form of restraint she had left in her body. Forward, forward, forward. Hermione's hand grazed her breast. And lingered. Fleur moaned and moved into the touch, pulling Hermione closer. Closer. She was too far away, as if miles lay in between. Hermione blazed a slow trail of kisses down Fleur's neck as Fleur's hand danced down Hermione's back.

It was then that she found it, the small notebook in Hermione's back pocket. Perhaps she needed to find a way to slow down, to control the hunger that was being let loose from deep inside her. Patience. She had to remember patience. But she wanted… it almost hurt how much. For whatever reason, she slowly, carefully removed the small book from Hermione's pocket.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and tried to stop Fleur, but it was too late. Fleur had the notebook and had managed to spin Hermione around so she was the one up against the door. Hermione's eyes were wide and she tried to retrieve the notebook. Fleur ducked and opened the notebook. She only glanced at the first few lines of the pages she opened up to, but it looked like a list with certain things, like dinner and dancing circled with others crossed out. On the next page there was a list of things that Hermione knew that Fleur liked. Or at least that's what the title of the list said, she did not have time to read it.

"Fleur!"

Fleur looked up and smiled, placing the notebook in her purse. "I would like to keep this if you do not mind. As a souvenir."

"Fleur, give it back. Please." Hermione's voice was almost begging, quiet and desperate, embarrassed.

"Please, Hermione? Your notebook is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. May I keep it, to remember tonight?"

Hermione sighed, her face red with embarrassment. "I… I guess."

Fleur positively beamed as she stepped back into Hermione. "You are so beautiful and kind, Hermione." She kissed Hermione softly on the lips, pulling away before it got too deep. "It is late. I really must leave you now. I fear you will already be in trouble as it is." She stepped back, but Hermione grabbed her hand.

"I meant what I said before, Fleur." Hermione's voice was soft but determined.

"Hm?" Fleur turned around, hoping that she would never get over the feel of Hermione's hand holding hers, of Hermione's hand in hers.

"Of smiling with you. I think I… I mean, this is really new to me. I never thought that I would care for a woman. And I am still adjusting to the attention that comes along with… with being with you. But, I want to. I can't explain it really, but I can't stop thinking about you." She took a step closer and traced the outline of Fleur's face with her finger. "I want to smile with you. I like the idea of… when I… at the bar, when I said that you're my girlfriend, I wanted it to be the truth. I want to be… I mean, it won't be easy. You're my professor, but I want to be and I think we can. I want us to be an us."

Fleur exhaled, unable to speak, barely able to breath.

"I mean… you know… " Hermione looked down at the ground, tracing a design on the ground with her shoe in Fleur's silence.

Fleur lifted Hermione's face so that their eyes would meet. "Yes. Hermione, yes. Oh dear Merlin yes."

Forward.

* * *

It was another hour or so before Fleur made it home. She felt herself enwrapped in Hermione, her smell. The feel of her body. Her lips against hers, The sound of her voice lingering in her ears. An us. Forward.

When she lay in bed, she smiled. She rolled over onto her side and opened the small notebook. It had a black cover and unlined white paper filled with notes. Its pages were filled with information on various restaurants in Hogsmeade, with their pros and cons in light of the date. There was information about the lesbian bar. The margins were filled with notes and doodles. Fleur could not help but blush. There was a heart with her and Hermione's initials.

In that moment, it was beyond endearing. She fell asleep holding that small piece of Hermione with the words I love you lingering in the night air by her pillow.


	12. And Then

On Monday morning, Fleur hummed (quietly, happily) to herself as she walked down the hallway. She could not remember the last time she felt like this, absolutely indestructible, like all the hardships in life were surmountable now. Things were finally working out, slowly but most definitely surely. (Hopefully. Fingers crossed.) This, to understate, felt good.

Which is probably why she was interrupted by sneer that threatened to pop her happiness. "You seem … cheery."

Turning around, Fleur smiled her brightest, cheeriest smile determined not to let Snape depress her. "Hm?"

He walked closer, his sneer more clearly evident. "You're humming."

"Was humming or hummed, to be more exact." Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am not currently humming. Your tense was incorrect, I do believe." Fleur crossed her arms over her chest. "The Winter Holiday begins next week. That is reason enough to hum, I imagine."

Snape arched his eyebrow. He apparently did not agree.

"Are you lacking in holiday cheer, Severus? Surely you are looking forward to a nice relaxation away from the students you love so dearly."

"I suppose. And Ms. Granger?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "I am sure Ms. Granger has enough decency to enjoy the holiday season as well. Are you going to run through my entire class list to see if they are also enjoying the holiday season Severus? Because I assure you that most have the capability to enjoy the upcoming holiday and are seizing upon the opportunity. I suggest you do the same."

"So you think this… thing with Granger will last? You are a schoolgirl's experimentation. Do not delude yourself."

"And do not delude yourself that whatever you say has any effect on me whatsoever." She shook her head and continued walking. (Lies. Lies. Sticks and stones are nothing like words.) She turned over her shoulder and smiled. "Have a happy holiday. And someday, Severus, I hope you find something to that can make you happy."

* * *

Fleur remembered Saturday night so clearly (but never clearly enough). Standing outside the gate Hermione said she was scared. And Fleur laughed.

"I'm scared too."

"You are?"

(Of course, you silly little girl. Of course.) Fleur could only nod and smile softly.

"Can we… I mean this is all so new to me. I… can we go slow?"

Fleur's eyes slid closed as she inhaled, wanting almost to cry from relief. Instead a smile overwhelmed her face. She wanted to reach out and touch Hermione's cheek and say yes, yes I agree, but she found herself frozen, overwhelmed with hope. When words did come to the surface, she barely recognized the happiness in her voice.

"I… I can do slow." (Patience in all things. Patience in one thing.) Forward.

* * *

After classes ended for the day she found herself standing outside the Three Broomsticks trying to decide whether to go in. She needed someone to talk to, to beam at, and wondered if Rosmerta was the right person. Was the woman simply being a good bartender or did she sincerely care? But it was winter and Fleur was cold. In the very least, she would go inside, warm up and have a drink. If Rosmerta wanted to talk about the date, she would approach Fleur and ask. (Fleur hoped she did, prayed she didn't.)

As Fleur opened the door the warmth and the din of conversation met her like an old friend. While the place was relatively empty, it held the quality, the sound, the feel of being loud, of being full of life at all times. It was comforting in a way. Avoiding the looks that always followed her, she found an empty seat at the bar that was away from the general mass of people. It was as she sat down that Rosmerta caught sight of her. Turning away from the customer she had just finished helping, the older woman grinned and wiped her hands on her apron as she approached.

"Well, if you don't look pleased with yourself I don't know who does. You had a good date, didn't you luv?"

Fleur could only smile for a moment before nodded. "The very best."

Rosmerta crossed the bar and leaned over. "I want details. And don't you dare thinking of leaving anything out. This bar is closed as far as I'm concerned until I'm satisfied."

And so Fleur leaned in over the bar and retold the whole story, from flower to notebook, in excited whispers punctuated by the large smile on her face. After she had told it all, Rosmerta grinned widely before excusing herself to attend to all her (patiently and not so patiently) waiting customers. She quickly returned to Fleur however.

"That is absolutely fabulous, Fleur. I'm so happy for you. You deserve it."

As soon as she spoke another group of people filled into the tavern. Fleur's eyes followed Rosmerta's darting around the now filling up Three Broomsticks.

"Luv, it's getting to be the rush. Come back later tonight? Maybe after closing so I can give you my full, undivided attention?"

Fleur blinked, surprised. "I have some grading to do, but what time does…?"

"Ten o'clock should be fine. See you then." It was more of a statement, an observation of future events, than a question.

* * *

Fleur tried to grade the latest batch of third year essays on werewolves, but she could barely concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Hermione, who she had not seen all day except in passing in the hallway. There they could only exchange a quick look, glances and meaningful smiles at best. She also had a sinking suspicion that she was grading far too kindly, but could not bring herself to grade more harshly

At around eight an owl scratched at the window. Realizing it was not Lothaire, her parent's owl, or any other owl she recognized, she opened the window with hesitant curiosity. Who would be trying to contact her? (Another ploy by Philippe to get her to talk to him again?) The Snowy Owl swooped in the room and gracefully landed nearby. It stuck out its foot expectantly. Fleur quickly took off the small note, making eye contact with the bird for a moment as if trying to ask the bird who sent it. The handsome owl stood and waited, obviously expecting a treat or a response back as Fleur unfurled the note. Either way the owl would have to wait for a moment.

_Just thinking of you and wishing you were here right now. Harry is letting me borrow his owl. Her name is Hedwig. I feel absolutely ridiculous owling you across the grounds. See you tomorrow!_

_-H._

Fleur smiled, shaking her head. So adorable. (What did she have to worry about?) As she was scrawling a quick note in reply, she looked up to see Lothaire fly in through the open window.

Hedwig moved over to give more than enough room to the incoming owl, remaining aloof if not a little annoyed. Funny, Fleur had somehow assumed that if Harry had an owl, it would be overly friendly and possess a similar temperament to his owner. Taking the much larger letter from Lothaire, she feed both the owls a small treat before returning to writing Hermione a response. It took far longer than it probably should have. But what should she say? Finally, after some deliberation, she wrote something. Paused. Thought about it. Scratched it out. Got a new piece of parchment. Wrote something else that seemed more appropriate.

_H-_

_Thank you for the sweet note. I am thinking of you as well. I fear I will not get work done tonight. You are such a wonderful distraction._

_-F._

After the message was fastened to Hedwig, the owl immediately flew out of the window. Fleur paused for a moment to watch the beautiful owl fly off before turning her full attention to Lothaire and her sister's seven-page letter.

The handwritten letter spanning front and back of the parchment in small handwriting detailed Gabrielle's latest exploit where she was nearly caught using a secret passageway, how her classes were going, and a barrage of questions about Hermione. Knowing she was unable to grade, Fleur sat down and began to reply back to her sister. Lothaire hopped around, alternating between chewing on something and trying to get more treats. If his chewing kept up, Fleur would have nothing left in a reasonably nice condition by the end of the year. Thinking this, she added a quick aside in her letter requesting Gabrielle to train her owl a little better. She had just about finished when it was time to head down and meet Rosmerta.

* * *

She arrived at the Three Broomsticks a few minutes after ten as Rosmerta was putting the chairs up.

"Salut," Fleur closed the door behind her shyly, suddenly worrying about what it might seem like, her coming over so late… did Rosmerta have the wrong idea? But, honestly, how could she?

"Good timing, love," Rosmerta grinned. "Just kicked the last of them out and now you have no excuse not to tell me every little detail of this wonderful, amazing date of yours."

The two women sat across from each other at a newly cleaned table in the empty room.

"So have you two talked since?"

"Mondays are a hectic schedule and she does not have my class, so I did not see her all day. However, she owled me earlier this evening saying that she was thinking of me." Fleur explained, trying not to blush.

"That's really cute. And you were all worried over nothing. See, what'd I tell you?" Rosmerta shook her head. "You responded back, right?" But Rosmerta didn't need Fleur's verbal response, she could read it clearly on Fleur's face (her blush, her shyness) that yes, yes she did. Not waiting for a response, Rosmerta leaned in over the table, her expression on of serious curiosity. "Now have you had any more of those… flash things?"

Fleur arched up her eyebrow in confusion.

"You said that when you first saw her at your doorstep, you clearly saw what she was doing a moment before, shifting from foot to foot, trying to work up the courage to knock."

Fleur, who had been examining her setting around her (she had never seen the Three Broomsticks so empty, so quiet), jerked her head up and looked directly at Rosmerta. "I said that?"

Rosmerta nodded, and leaned back, crossing her arms. "That you did. In passing, but you did."

"Oh, well… no. That has not yet occurred again." Fleur shifted slightly in her seat. She trusted Rosmerta, yes, but she should pay better attention to her words.

"Yet? Again? So this is something you expect to happen often?"

"It is…" Fleur sighed. "It is sometimes part of the bonding that occurs during the courtship ritual."

"But I though that the courtship ritual was when you two-…"

"That is the final sealing, yes. But the courtship ritual begins before that. It is not a linear process. It is steps forward, steps backwards that move in sync with the relationship. It's well…" Fleur exhaled. "A process."

"And this… these flashes of the other person's life is part of the bond that occurs?"

"Sometimes. It does not always occur, but at moments of closeness, extreme emotions or emotional alignment it has been known to occur, yes."

Rosmerta whistled. "This is no regular love."

Fleur could only shake her head and shrug. "It is the only romantic love I will know."

"That's bloody intense. Does it scare you?"

"Yes." Fleur closed her eyes for a moment. "And no. It is simply… natural. But this naturalness has a scariness of its own I suppose."

"I can imagine. So what are you two going to do over the holiday?" Rosmerta shifted the conversation, picking up on Fleur's sudden discomfort. The French woman had taken to playing with the hem of her shirt.

"I… We…" And then Fleur's face dropped. "I do not know. We had not talked about it. It has happening all so… well, rather sudden. I have not had time to think about it."

"Yet. You should do that, Fleur. Don't rush her, but as I remember the holiday can run rather long and that might not be good to have such a long break for a fledgling relationship."

"I had not really thought about it." Fleur had imagined it, yes, fantasized Hermione coming to visit her in France, but it had never been a reality until now that something might actually happen. "It starts next week." And that is when she started to worry again.

* * *

The week before the holiday was a dreadful week to teach. With every passing moment, the students' minds were further locked on the upcoming break. Fleur soon accepted that she would get nothing of note accomplished this week. Monday was manageable, but by Thursday her classes were near uncontrollable.

And she was consumed with worry over what would happen over the holiday. She and Hermione did not have time to talk about it. Hermione was busy with her Head Girl duties and a final flooding of work before the term ended. Fleur, herself, was equally busy. They found moments, after and in between classes, yes, but nothing ever substantial. And Fleur became increasingly nervous that this was how it was going to be all year and they would progress, never move forward from this casual style of relationship where they fit each other around their busy schedules. And what about the holiday season? Fleur wanted to see her but was too shy to ask. She had to, needed to go to France, but would it be too much, too forward to ask Hermione to join her, at least for part of the holiday? It was best not to rush things but how does one know if they are going too slow?

Fleur was thankful when classes ended on Thursday and she could make her way up to the hospital wing and find respite from the day. Somehow, over the course of the week, Pomfrey's constant teasing began being counted as respite.

Fleur remembered the feel of Hermione's hands on her body as she carefully undressed down to her white slip and folded her clothes and laid them on the chair. (Would Hermione ever undress her? She hoped so.) She was arranging her shoes neatly underneath the chair when Pomfrey knocked.

"Come in," Fleur quickly stood up and moved to sit on the examining table.

"Good afternoon," Pomfrey smiled cheerfully. "How were classes today?"

"Dreadful." Fleur shook her head. "I simply cannot wait for the holidays."

"Classes have been dreadful all week. I think for Christmas I am buying you a thesaurus, Fleur. English being your second language is no excuse for using the same word day after day," Pomfrey shook her head and teased. She momentarily looked at some papers and then returned her attention to the French woman. "So let's see if this lovely turn of events has had any affect on you health-wise. I mean, you are certainly less mopey, that's for sure, but your vocabulary has taken a major turn for the worse. It is making me begin to worry that you might becoming a blubbering lovesick fool."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "I suppose I have a full session of this to look forward to, hm?"

"I'll try to keep it to a minimum," Pomfrey smiled warmly as she began the examination. What had, at first, been a robotic procedure, had now become a science. Fleur doubted it would ever become an art, a dance, but it was a well-practiced science, yes, between Fleur's body and Pomfrey's cold hands.

Halfway through the examination, though, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Pomfrey looked up, frustrated, hating interruptions.

"Poppy," McGonagall's voice came from behind the closed door. "Mr. Winters was hit by a rather nasty hex and is in need of your immediate attention."

"Yes, Minerva," Pomfrey stood up and shrugged. "I'll be back shortly. Don't pull another one of your exits, Fleur. Just because things are starting to look in your favor does not mean you can skip out on your potion." She gave Fleur a preemptively reprimanding look before quickly exiting.

Fleur sighed and sat up from the table. After a few minutes, she began kicking her legs with boredom as she let her mind wander to Hermione. The feel of her lips, the way she said 'an us'…

A knock on the door broke her from her reverie.

'"Come in," she replied automatically, trying to wipe off whatever silly expression she had on her face so Pomfrey would not tease her.

The door opened hesitantly. Now Fleur had assumed it was Pomfrey when she said come in. She had assumed. She was wearing only a slip. A slip!

"I… uh…" Hermione dropped her bag onto the floor out of surprise. The brunette was clearly trying not to blatantly stare at Fleur's near naked form and failing quite miserably. (Fleur was pretty sure that she did not mind.) Finally, after several awkward seconds, Hermione succeeded at ripping her eyes away from Fleur's form. She became fixated on Fleur's neatly folded clothes on the back of the chair. (Her eyes, however, kept creeping shyly back before averting away again.)

Hermione, turning a deep crimson, cleared her throat and stammered. "Pomfrey said you were here and said that… she didn't say you were, well..." (Of course Pomfrey didn't.)

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" Hermione asked quickly, her eyes once again locked on Fleur's body and blushing deeply.

"Can you close the door behind you?" It was wide open. And while it was one thing for Hermione to see her in her slip, it was entirely another for everyone else in the hospital wing to see it as well.

"Oh, right. Yes." Hermione quickly turned around and shut the door. Immediately, Fleur stopped the pretense of covering her nearly naked body with her bare arms and leaned back. "Sorry. I…"

"Got distracted." Fleur smiled, almost playfully; fully aware of how Hermione's eyes had once again found their way back to her breasts.

"I…" Hermione dipped her knees and clasped her hands together in an incredibly cute gesture. "I… came by to see if… to see you really." Obviously. Hermione took a few steps into the room.

Fleur smiled. "Well, here I am." Probably more of her than Hermione expected to see, but oh well. Some things cannot be helped and Fleur was not about to complain. Fleur's eyes drifted shyly downward for a moment an when she looked up again, Hermione had crossed the room and was standing silently in front of her. "And here you are." The words came out more like a breath than a sentence. And here Fleur's heart was, in her throat. Beating loudly. (Kiss her.)

"I…" Hermione trailed off as she looked behind her at the door. (Kiss her.)

"You?" Fleur tipped her head to the side, placing both her hands by her side for support as she leaned slightly backward, in nervous anticipation, in a hopefully subtle attempt to… what? Lure Hermione in? (Kiss her.)

And then?

And then Hermione, seemingly having given up on her verbal capabilities, crossed the small distance between their two bodies, cupped Fleur's face in her hands and kissed Fleur softly on the lips. Her hand slid behind Fleur's head bringing her closer, deepening the kiss. Fleur sighed into Hermione's mouth, one hand clenching onto the end of the table for support and the other finding the small of Hermione's back and pulling her in even closer.

Fleur found that the hunger that underscored every kiss and every touch was becoming increasingly harder to ignore, to hold in, to control. And it was not a one-sided hunger. She could feel it in Hermione as it threatened to overflow her own being. Fleur wanted to let her control go. So badly. Closer. Deeper. Forward. More. More.

And Hermione?

And Hermione knew. She knew as she pulled back to breath, resting her forehead against Fleur's. As if to let Fleur know that this was only a momentary break, Hermione placed a finger tenderly on Fleur's lips.

Fleur closed her eyes and kissed Hermione's finger, vaguely sucking on it and flicking it with her tongue, refusing to let it go just yet. She held in her breath as Hermione's other hand made its way down her neck. When Fleur opened her eyes, Hermione's entire concentration was focused on her single index finger tracing and retracing the sloping neckline of Fleur's slip. Every once in a while, her finger would slip just barely beneath the fabric and Fleur's breath would catch. Fleur tried to remember to breathe, to hold some semblance of control.

Unable to handle the intensity of all much longer, she pulled Hermione into her and re-captured Hermione's lips. Hermione's (brave, bold) hand dropped only enough to cup Fleur's breast. Closer. Fleur could only draw her in closer. (It was never close enough. Would it ever be?)

And that's when Pomfrey knocked on the door, pausing only long enough to (barely) give the two women enough time to pull apart and look awkward. They both looked at (stared at) the ground. Fleur tried to catch her ragged breath as she scratched the back of her head. Her other hand rubbed her chest above where Hermione's hand had just been, wishing that it was still there. Wishing Pomfrey wasn't there. She adjusted the top of her slip as nonchalantly as possible under Pomfrey's pointed gaze (which for the record was not very nonchalant at all). Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot and made an hm noise, seeming to have found something engrossing to look at where the floor met the wall. Fleur decided to look as well to find out what was so interesting.

"Sorry that took so long, Fleur. Ah, but I see Ms. Granger found you." Hermione looked nearly mortified with embarrassment. "Shall we continue the rest of your examination? Ms. Granger, will you please excuse us? I'll only keep Fleur occupied for a few more minutes, I promise."

"Right… well, um, I'll wait outside for you then when you're done then?" Hermione pointed behind herself awkwardly, and began to exit.

"Ms. Granger?" Pomfrey called out after her.

"Yes?" Hermione turned around.

"Your bag."

"Oh. Right." Hermione's face turned a deeper crimson as she turned back, grabbed her bag and then promptly left the room.

"Pomfrey, you are a horrible woman." Fleur remarked after Hermione closed the door behind her. "I am in my slip."

Pomfrey's smug smile only grew wider. "She showed up looking for you and I thought it'd take longer than it did with the hex so I sent her in to keep you entertained."

"I am in my slip," Fleur repeated.

"My mistake. Though," Pomfrey grinned a little, her hands cold on Fleur's flushed skin, "I do not think either of you minded. It appears Ms. Granger was able to keep you entertained with her… conversational skills while you waited."

Pomfrey was insufferable for the rest of the examination.

* * *

When Fleur left the hospital wing ten minutes later, she found Hermione sitting up against the wall thoroughly engrossed in a book. Fleur leaned up against the wall for a moment, enjoying the furrowed brow of the Gryffindor's concentration.

"Good book?" She whispered into Hermione's ear after leaning down to near Hermione's level.

Hermione jumped. Clutching her chest and looking up, she found Fleur standing there. There had been a time not so long ago when this would have caused the other girl to scowl, but now Hermione only smiled.

"Fleur! I didn't see you come in."

"I apologize." Fleur stepped back, giving Hermione room and a hand to stand up. "Homework?" Her eyes moved down to the book.

"Yes, I thought while I'd wait I'd…" Hermione took the offered hand and stood up. Once standing, Hermione blushed a deep crimson, as if remembering Fleur in her slip. The girl looked down for a moment and when she looked up Fleur was smiling in a way she had never seen Fleur smile before. "What?"

"I'm just smiling." (You make me happy.) "Thank you for waiting."

"Of course. I mean… you're welcome." The redness began slowly to subside from her face. Fleur only smiled wider. Hermione blushed further. "Well, I… I wanted to see you."

The Gryffindor looked around. The room was empty and there were no signs of someone coming. Hermione leaned in and kissed Fleur. Softly. Quickly. Again, the hunger threatened to overflow into the kiss and as Fleur moved to deepen the kiss, Hermione responded for a second before pulling away.

"I… I think I hear somebody coming." She whispered as she separated herself fully from Fleur. Sure enough, in a few seconds a Hufflepuff boy shuffled by pretending (poorly and awkwardly) not to notice Fleur and Hermione standing there.

"We probably should not here..." Fleur observed. They had a habit for being interrupted after all.

"No, probably not. And I should really do work. Unfortunately. But maybe I could…" Hermione stopped short and looked up. "Maybe I could come over later? To your place?" (Forward.) "Tonight? After I finish my work?" (The bold Gryffindor makes her move.)

Fleur nodded, a slow smile creeping up on her features. "I would like that." Maybe she could bring up the holiday then? And as Hermione gave her a quick kiss goodbye, her stomach was already a nervous wreak.


	13. In the Morning

Fleur awoke Friday morning with the feeling that something was amiss. Not quite wrong exactly but with in sense of things not being quite familiar. It was different somehow. It was hard to put her finger on it right away exactly. Different. Somehow different.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Hermione outside the hospital wing, the rest of Fleur's Thursday was near impossible. She couldn't concentrate. She ended up spending more time cleaning the house instead of grading essays. She did not know exactly when Hermione would be coming over (and what it was that Hermione expected) and that made her nervous. She assumed it would be somewhat late, but by seven o'clock her eyes were practically locked on the clock just the same. It was irrational to expect her then, but when would Hermione come over? When?

And then? What would happen then?

Instead of making final revisions on her lesson plans, Fleur ended up twisting the issue of the winter holiday over and over in her mind. How would she bring it up? (Should she? Could she? Was she moving too fast? Was time moving too slow?) Her eyes kept straying back to the clock. As the hours passed by, she went through and threw out countless scenarios. As the hours passed by, she became increasingly anxious. She could not help but constantly look at the clock and every time she glanced up her eyes lingered on the slender arms. And every time she did this, the small pit in her stomach grew. Every time came the realization that whatever time it was, Hermione still had not shown up (yet).

And it was then that Fleur started to doubt herself. What Snape had said early began to nag at her elbow.  _Was_  she an experiment? It was doubtful that Hermione would be as serious as she was at this point, but Fleur doubted that she was some sort of lab rat for Hermione. (At least intentionally. One did not experiment with their high profile professor, did they?) But still, maybe it would be too forward to invite her to France for the holidays. There was no casual way to bring it up. It was too last minute. And maybe Hermione had changed her mind, had become shy, had become straight, and was not coming over (was not coming out).

By eleven thirty, Fleur felt thoroughly dejected and was consumed by a foul mood. Exhausted and sad, she unfolded her legs from her father's recliner where she had been sitting (fidgeting) for the last couple of hours attempting (pretending) to read, to grade, to do anything somewhat productive. There was no use depriving her self of sleep and torturing her self further. She was now thoroughly dreading her first class, a double period with the seventh years.

As she stood up about to turn the lights off downstairs, she heard a tentative knock on the door. It was so quiet that Fleur could have been imagining it. Fleur had thought she almost heard a knocking before, earlier in the evening. But as she paused listening and questioning, the knock came again, bolder this time. Hesitating for only a moment longer, she forced herself not to rush to the door. 

"Hermione," Fleur smiled weakly as she opened the door, trying to wipe away any signs of her anxiety.

"Fleur, hello. Sorry it's so late. I had this essay due for Snape and then the first years were wreaking havoc in the common room. Thank god I'm Head Girl or I would have never gotten through the hallways to get here unless I had Harry's invisibility cloak and he's using it tonight to visit Ginny… I mean… You aren't supposed to know about that because you're a professor… Not that that fact has really prevented us…" A large exhale. An apologetic, guilty smile. "I'm sorry I'm late." Hermione breathed her excuse with nervous rapidity. It was obvious by her breathing and the flush on her face that Hermione had probably ran most of, if not all of, the way. "Can I come in?"

"Oui, certainly, of course," Fleur nodded and stepped aside to allow Hermione in.

Once inside, Hermione leaned in and kissed her quickly.

"Hello," Hermione grinned.

"Hello yourself," Fleur recaptured Hermione's lips softly, not quite ready for her to slip away so quickly. The kiss was brief only because Goldie was filled with determined insistence to take Hermione's coat immediately and as soon as possible.

Fleur led Hermione by the hand into the parlor where the fire was crackling. Standing in front of the fire, Hermione stretched her hands out to warm them up.

"It's so cold out there," Hermione explained meekly. "I should have grabbed a warmer cloak but I didn't want to make it look like I was going to make a trek across the grounds."

Fleur stood next to Hermione and nodded, still not sure if she was (now irrationally) mad or not. Hermione, however, gave Fleur no time to dwell as she moved closer to Fleur and slipped a cold arm around Fleur's waist and leaned her head on Fleur's shoulder. Fleur shivered at the coldness of Hermione's hands and then moved into the touch.

"I'm sorry I came so late." Hermione's words were soft, sweet, and sincere. Fleur melted.

"It is fine. I understand that it must be hard to get away." Fleur sighed. (And it was not as if Fleur could come visit Hermione.) If this was to happen again, however, and she hoped it would, the system would have to be revised.

* * *

Somehow their conversations led Fleur and Hermione into the bedroom where the two girls sat on the bed, up against the headboard, holding each other. Simply enjoying the warmth, the feel of each other's bodies and how they fit together. After several moments of comfortable silence, Hermione inquired how Fleur had known she was gay.

"With veelas, even part veelas, it is not the same as with other wizards I imagine. We are raised differently, where gender—at least in terms of love—is not as significant. I mean you must understand that we do not grow up in isolation. We witness the norms, the social constructs, the assumptions, the beliefs, mais…" Fleur shrugged. "The veela culture is more accepting as long as it is a genuine and authentic love," Fleur tried to explain, looking at her ceiling as she spoke, carefully choosing her words. "In Veela, we have no words for gay, straight, or any of that. Only for real love or… I suppose one could translate it into something along the lines of shallow love, infatuation, or practice love perhaps." Fleur did not elaborate that this word only held negative connotations. 

"I think, for me, I always knew. On some level, at least. But I was scared and always looked in the other direction." Hermione bit her lip, her brow furrowed. "I wanted so hard to like Ron," (Ron. Again.) "but last year when he was with Lavender-…"

"Wait, I thought Lavender-…"

"She is. She was trying to hide it. She was secretly with Parvati for most of the time. Believe me, it has caused so many problems," Hermione groaned with frustration, indicating that she was privy witnessing or at least hearing about a fair number of these problems. "I think that's partly while Padma is still a bit weary of Lavender. Lavender just says it's because Parvati has commitment issues, but I think she knows better."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"We were talking about you." (And Ron.)

"You interrupted. I was clarifying!"

"I only required a brief moment of clarification. You are now officially avoiding the subject."

"I am not!"

"Hermione, you're absolutely adorable when you get flustered. But you were telling me what happened when Monsieur Weasley dated Lavender last year." (And how it related back to Hermione.)

"Well, I was just so… jealous. And I didn't know where all this jealousy came from. It was all so very confusing." Hermione's face scrunched up in an unbearably cute expression. It was evident she was not used to the level and kind of confusion that this jealousy had caused. "Every time I saw them together, or heard about the two of them, I just… But some part of me knew it wasn't because of Ron. Even though I wanted it to be, knew it should be that way. I wasn't jealous of Lavender for being with Ron but…" Hermione exhaled. "And it took me a really long time to realize that it was Lavender. I mean, I was jealous of Ron for being with Lavender. Not the other way around." Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, and she shook her head. Her words were increasingly slow and deliberate. She was also blushing a deep red of crimson. "I don't think I fully realized it, though, or really let myself… not really, I mean, until you…"

"So you do not like Monsieur Weasley?" Fleur asked it partly as a joke, a way to lighten up the situation. Fleur could imagine that this was not easy for Hermione. It was probably a lot of things Hermione never had given voice to out loud before. (But she also asked because she needed to hear it.)

"Heavens no, Fleur!" Hermione turned over abruptly to look Fleur straight in the face, almost alarmed. "Not like that, at least. He's like a brother."

Fleur shrugged innocently, trying to be casual, but also showing the teasing, the joking on her features. "What? The first years said…"

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "You cannot be serious, Fleur."

Fleur turned on her side and enwrapped Hermione in her arms. She closed her eyes and let herself for a moment be surrounded by the smell of her lover. (Her lover.) "Well, the latest hypothesis presented in class by the third years was that I kissed you in the hallway due to a wayward love potion that was in fact meant for Monsieur Weasley. However, as I do not eat in the Great Hall or spend any spare time with the boy, how the switch occurred was never fully explained. At least not while I was in hearing range. I imagine they are currently revising their theory."

Hermione broke out into laughter. At this point, all they could do was laugh. Hermione twisted around and locked eyes with Fleur, suddenly her expression one of dead seriousness. "I will have you know, Fleur, that my love potions are never wayward."

"I will keep that in mind." Fleur nodded with mock grave seriousness. "Though I am wondering perhaps why you are brewing love potions. Should I warn Lavender and Parvati?"

"The only person who should be worried is you, Fleur, and that is pointless as I already have you." (More than you even realize.)

Fleur grinned and kissed Hermione on her forehead. "A point for you indeed."

"I prefer kisses on the lips, by the way." Hermione informed playfully. "If you were wondering."

"Oh, well then…" Not one to disappoint, Fleur directed her attention to Hermione's lips and the thread of conversation was lost for quite some time. When they pulled apart, Hermione was quiet for a moment.

"What are you doing for the holiday?" Hermione's tone was shy, and her eyes flickered between looking directly at Fleur and looking away.

"I am going home to France to visit my family."

"Oh. For some reason, I thought the professors stayed at the school…"

"Most do. However, there are the occasional exceptions. I am one of them."

Hermione nodded, and Fleur could see thoughts forming and moving around in Hermione's mind. "Oh. Well… I was thinking of staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. My parents have a dentistry conference at the beginning of the new year in America and thought they'd go a few weeks early and have their holiday there as well. I don't have a plane ticket to join them."

"A plane?" Fleur, who had been listening quietly before, suddenly became confused.

"A mode of muggle travel."

"Oh, is that the one that flies?" Fleur did not excel at Muggle Studies while at Beauxbatons. At the time, she honestly did not care. This was something she was now thoroughly regretting it. (The follies of youth.)

"Yes, Fleur. It's the one that flies," Hermione shook her head with amusement.

"Oh, I always wondered how it did that…" Fleur mused to herself quietly. "I mean, they look rather heavy after all."

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione spoke up again, trying to sound casual. "What's France like in Christmas?"

Fleur paused for a moment and then turned to look at Hermione. (Now or never.) "Why don't you come and find out?" After all, Gryffindors aren't the only ones who can be bold.

Hermione blinked. "I… would that be alright? I mean… it's last minute."

"If you would like to come, my parents have already extended an invitation." Which was true, in a way. They had hinted, the way parents do, but had not come outright and said anything knowing that the situation was still delicate.

"I mean, of course I would like to come Fleur. It's just the logistics of it. It's so sudden." Hermione paused, working through an unreadable expression on her face. "Would it really be ok?"

Fleur smiled, not sure if Hermione was trying to politely refuse or was really trying to figure the situation out so that it would work.

"My family would be fine with it. Adding a second person to my traveling arrangements would not be an issue. It is more dependent on you. Would you truly want to come?"

"I…" Hermione paused, and then exhaled and smiled. "I do. Yes." She nodded firmly at first and then more excited. "This will be exciting."

For the next half hour, the two began to plan the arrangements to be made and Fleur sent an owl off to her parents. As Fleur's owl swooped off the windowsill and out of site, Hermione became quiet. 

"I don't know how to tell my parents, Fleur." Her voice was soft, shy and meek.

"Tell them what, your holiday plans?" Fleur, who had eased into a more comfortably position onto her bed, propped her self up enough to look fully at Hermione.

"About us. About me. It's just going to be another thing that will distance us, another thing that I don't think they'll understand about me and my life."

Fleur, unable to hold back the temptation, kissed Hermione tenderly on her temple as she spoke.

"Only tell them what you are comfortable with. There will be a time and a place to tell them. If coming to France with me now will bring unneeded complications and stress, you could visit another time. I certainly do not think you have to tell them now, or have my invitation rush you in any way."

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I want to come. And besides, you already owled your parents."

"There is no limit on the owls that I can send. Maybe we did not think this through?"

Hermione shook her head; the familiar look of determination began to take hold of the brunette's features. "I am coming to France. I just have to figure out how to tell my parents, that is all. It just might be a little…"

"Hard, I know." Fleur nodded, remembering the moment when her parents found out about what happened during her first year in England. But now was not the time for such memories.

Hermione yawned. "I'm exhausted. What time is it?"

"Quite late, I am afraid." Fleur spoke as she closed her eyes, holding in a yawn herself.

"I should get going soon. I have this dreadful double period tomorrow morning with this wretched professor… a positively horrid French woman. She barely knows anything about the subject, is poorly organized, and cannot hold the class' attention to save her life. Tries to rely solely on her looks."

Fleur arched her eyebrow sardonically. "Careful or I will fail you for the day."

"You can't," Hermione twisted around so they were facing and cupped Fleur's face in her hand. "I'll make it up to you…"

* * *

Fleur awoke to the sun streaming in through her window. Even before opening her eyes she realized things were different. Not quite wrong exactly, but different. Somehow. First of all, she was surprisingly cold. With her eyes still closed, she groped around looking for the duvet assuming she had lost it during the night.

In the few seconds it took her to search for the duvet, her groggy mind realized several things about her current situation. First, she was cold because she was not under the duvet, but on top of it. This was perhaps because she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. And that she was not alone in bed.

Her eyes snapped open and she shot up in bed. The abruptness of her movement woke up Hermione, who groaned softly and moved toward the warm spot of the bed where Fleur had been lying a moment before. The adorableness of the moment, however, was partly lost on Fleur. Her eyes darted around the room and found the clock.

"Hermione!"

"Hm?" Hermione half-heartedly rolled over to face Fleur, her eyes still closed.

"Hermione, we have to get up. Now. We fell asleep. We have class in ten minutes."


	14. Three Points

"Hermione!" Moments before Fleur had been sleeping peacefully in bed. However now she was sitting up in bed with her eyes locked on the clock and found herself nearly yelling in surprise. The morning sunlight streamed in through the window onto Hermione's sleeping form. The younger woman groaned half-asleep and shifted in an attempt to find Fleur's body, suddenly missing from beside her. With eyes still sealed shut, Hermione groaned and pointed her head upwards towards the sound of Fleur's voice, grimacing slightly from the sun through her eyelids.

"We have to get up. Now." Fleur's voice was calm and even, though failing at fully covering the panic (and thrill of waking up next to Hermione). "We fell asleep. We have class in ten minutes."

In a matter of seconds Hermione had sat upright with her eyes wide open.

"What?"

"We overslept. We are going to be late for class." This was not the morning Fleur had imagined, or wanted. At least not for their first. But given their track record, it was almost to be expected. She was sure in retrospect this would be hilarious. (Hopefully.)

Fleur wanted to lean in, to kiss Hermione. (Kissing would not help the situation and there was morning breath to consider.) Instead, she removed herself from bed and stood in front of her open closet. She distracted herself by picking out an outfit.

"Fleur, what are you doing? We need to leave. We need to get going." Hermione sat confused on the edge of the bed as Fleur began to rummage casually through her closet.

"I need to get dressed," Fleur looked over her shoulder at Hermione (her lover. Her lover.) with a dress already in hand. Her voice relaxed to the point of nonchalant explanation. "I do not think it wise for us both to show up late and wearing the same clothes we wore the day before. It might raise some suspicions. I would imagine." Pause. "You at least still have your uniform on."

"Oh. Right. Well, hurry up then." 

Hermione, now standing, began to straighten out her outfit, to try to adjust it in any way to make it not look quite so slept in. Fleur watched as her lover ran a hand through her brown hair. The last time she had seen it that bushy was several years ago. Fleur assumed that whatever Hermione was using to control it was in her room. Fleur smiled quietly to herself.

When Hermione looked up from her adjustments, Fleur had already begun to change into her outfit. It seemed silly at a moment like this to feign modesty. There was their current time constraint to consider and the fact that Hermione had already seen Fleur in her slip. From the corner of her eye, she caught the blush on Hermione's face before the brunette turned around to give her some privacy. (What a gentleman, her Hermione. Her Hermione.)

"You can turn around now," Fleur smiled a few moments later.

Hermione turned around, her blushing, however, only increased. "Fleur, your dress is unzipped."

And so it was. Part of her sleeve had slipped down over her shoulder. It wasn't revealing anything, but it was (almost painfully) suggestive nonetheless.

"The zipper is caught. I was hoping you would help me with it?" Fleur smiled innocently before adjusting the sleeve so that it covered her shoulder properly again.

"Sometimes Fleur you are ridiculous. We're going to be late for class."

"And even later if you do not help me with my zipper or help me pick out a different dress with a fully operational zipper." Fleur grinned playfully. Like many situations, she decided that it would be far better to just enjoy the moment. She had Hermione this morning and she wanted to savor it the best she could.

Hermione shook her head as she walked over to Fleur. Despite her words, Hermione zipped the dress up rather slowly. She also made no comment about how the zipper was not actually stuck. Instead, Hermione chose to kiss the back of Fleur's neck just above where the zipper ended.

Shivering from the intimacy of the moment, Fleur turned around and captured Hermione's lips in a soft kiss. And like many times before what started out as a soft and quick kiss somehow deepened, lengthened (what was a few more minutes, really?). Hermione's hand traced Fleur's cheek, her shoulder. Down her waist. Interlocked fingers. Maybe because it was in the morning, maybe because they were late, a sense of urgency ignored, a taboo, but in that moment, (maybe it was something else entirely) Fleur felt a surge of intimacy that she had never felt before with Hermione. Forward.

When they pulled apart to breathe, Fleur could not help but smirk. "Mademoiselle Granger, be careful or your professor might mark you down for tardiness."

Hermione started to laugh.

* * *

Despite distractions, the two women were able to leave in a matter of minutes. The two walked to Hogwarts at a brisk pace holding hands, interlocking fingers within one of Fleur's pockets for warmth. Hermione was shivering. If only she had brought a warmer cloak last night. Fleur wrapped an arm around her lover and brought her closer. Hermione kept her hand in Fleur's pocket. And as they trudged briskly through the thin layer of snow on the ground, their conversation turned to a more serious note: the next few minutes of their lives.

"Well, we cannot walk in together." Fleur sighed, after thinking quietly to herself for a moment.

"So who goes in first?"

"I wonder though, would your housemates have noticed that you did not return last night?"

"I have a private room as Head Girl…" Hermione sighed, unsure. "Probably not?"

"I am sure that we can assume a few of your friends will have probably put a few points together I am afraid. And even if they haven't, it would be safer to simply assume for now."

Hermione groaned. The teasing would be insufferable. And that would be the best result if last night got out. Shivering, she moved closer into Fleur. It was much colder today than she had hoped. "So what are we going to do? Who enters first?"

Fleur sighed. "I am guessing you have to enter first. I will wait a minute or two and then follow. Or do you think it would be best for me to enter first? I am sure I can think of something non-flirtatiously witty to say if you showed up late."

"Which do you think would be less suspicious?"

"Honestly?" Fleur sighed. "I have no idea." They definitely were going to have to start setting alarms.

* * *

Fleur exhaled before entering her classroom. Sometimes, more than others, entering her classroom was a nerve-wracking experience. This was one of those times.

"Bonjour," she smiled winningly when she reached the head of the class.

When she entered, it was apparent that her students had used her lateness as an excuse for an extended social hour. Normally, she began class with attendance. Today, however, she started the class right away, anxious not to lose any more class time. This change of routine confused her students. And she caught a few people to continue to eye Hermione's empty seat. Lavender and Parvati, however, looked at Fleur. Harry and Ron just seemed to shift uncomfortably, a bit confused. Fleur noted, however, that Harry seemed a bit more preoccupied trying to find ways to hide the hickey on his neck.

"Due to the fact that holiday begins tomorrow, I believe that starting new material would be useless. However, I refuse to waste valuable time. The next two hours will be a general review session of anything that I believe should have been covered in your schooling on this subject matter. Put your books away, but do have your wands out and at the ready."

As she spoke the door opened and Hermione, face flushed, carefully made her way to her seat trying not to attract attention.

"Mademoiselle Granger, how wonderful it is for you to join us. The holiday begins tomorrow and not today. Three points from Gryffindor for tardiness."

Hermione's eyes bugged with surprise. While she had been expecting Fleur to do something, she had not been expecting that.

"And now if we can begin the review session I would be most pleased. In a minute you are to break up into teams were decided randomly ahead of time. However, I did put some effort into breaking up the usual friend groups." There was a slight groan from the class. She continued on if she did not hear anything.

"Now, for every question answered correctly, you will receive a point. The team with the most points will receive a prize at the end of the period. This prize may or may not involve chocolate." Fleur did not consider herself above bribery.

As Fleur spoke, Lavender leaned in across the aisle separating her and Hermione and whispered something to the brunette. Hermione, still shocked by Fleur, tried to subtly lean in and listen to whatever Lavender was saying. And whatever the other girl was saying caused Hermione to blush. Fleur had a few guesses of her own about what was being said.

"Mademoiselle Brown, this is a classroom and not a place of gossip. Two points from Gryffindor."

When she divided the class into teams, she  had been careful to place Hermione, Ron, Harry, Pavarti and Lavender all on separate teams. By the end of class, Fleur had undone the damage she had done to Gryffindor by awarding five points to Ron for an effective and high-level counter-curse.

* * *

The closer it came to the last period of the day, the less her students were able to pay attention. It seemed like all anyone could do, Fleur included, was stare wistfully at the clock. Fleur just ran review sessions with a promised prize to the winning team, though at the end of the period she always gave each and every student a chocolate frog (with very clear instructions to open them outside of her classroom). After all her students had run from the classroom (some lingering to shyly wish her a happy holiday), Fleur began to pack up for the day. It was with many different emotions swirling inside that she carefully organized her bag. She had done it, she had successfully taught an entire semester of adolescents. In this quiet moment of realized triumph, the door creaked open. Looking up, she saw Hermione and smiled.

"Bonjour," she grinned as she placed the last thing in her bag and leaned up against her desk.

"Three points from Gryffindor, really?" Hermione closed the door behind her.

Fleur shrugged. "I had to make it believable, non? That is standard procedure for lateness. And if you recall correctly, you were quite late."

"So were you." Hermione walked across the room so they were only a few inches apart, her eyes arched up playfully in defiance.

"True. But I do not live in a house to take points from. Nor am I a student. It is an unequal system, perhaps, but it is the current one you English have in place. When in Rome, yes?"

"If I recall correctly, I was late because of you."

Fleur smirked playfully. "You were the one who made the decision to enter second. Arriving after the professor makes you late. Again, I point to the imperfect system."

"That you perpetuate." Hermione groaned and shook her head.

"When in Rome." Fleur repeated. "I am but a mere foreigner trying to fit into a strange land."

"You are impossible, just be quiet and kiss me so I can walk you to your appointment before you're late for a second time today."

Unable to argue with perfectly good logic, Fleur leaned in and kissed Hermione. It was a teasing kiss. Fleur refused to let her lips linger, let alone settle fully on Hermione's. She would pull away whenever Hermione would move to deepen the kiss only to return again and do the same thing again.

"Impossible," Hermione whispered, resting her hand behind Fleur's head so as to prevent Fleur's next momentary escape. And when Hermione deepened the kiss, Fleur did anything but resist as she wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her in closer. Overwhelmed by the increasing strength of the kiss, Fleur pulled herself up onto the desk for support.

Hermione moved her attention down to Fleur's neck. Her hand wandered down from Fleur's head across her shoulder, lingering on her breasts. Fleur tipped her head back, arching her back biting her lip. As she closed her eyes, her breath hitched with pleasure and her hands came into a boldness of their own. Only for the two women to pull apart abrupt as the door creaked open.

"Oh I… left my quill," Ginny blushed a red that matched her hair. "But I can come back for it later…"

Fleur ran a hand through her head, her voice sounding a lot more in control than she felt. "No, by all means. Hermione and I were both on our way out."

Fleur grabbed her bag and tossed Hermione, who was quietly laughing, a look. Fleur had missed the exchange of looks between Ginny and Hermione. However she had caught the redhead's thumbs up.

By the time they reached the hospital wing, Fleur was late for a second time that day. Not that she minded. Pomfrey, however, had other feelings on the matter.

* * *

Saturday night, after all the students who were traveling for the holidays had left and her Head Girl duties were completed, Hermione came over for dinner. After, they were going to Side Along Apparate to France. Their bags co-mingled in the hallway next to Goldie and Fleur could barely believe any of this was happening.

"I apologize for the food, it is not the best," Fleur explained as she made the crepe batter. Spread out on the kitchen counter, Fleur had laid out several toppings for dinner and dessert crepes, ranging from peanut butter, lemon juice, apples, a variety of cheeses and vegetables to chocolate sauce. Pretty much anything she could think of to put in a crepe that would help her empty out her pantry. Hermione was sitting on the counter watching Fleur cook and helping herself to the chocolate sauce with her finger.

"It looks delicious. I've never had homemade crepes before."

Fleur laughed. "Well, if you eat with me a lot, I am afraid you might grow tired of them soon enough." While her cooking skills were improving with time and her limited repertoire was expanding, it was slow progress.

In a way, there was a strange timing to eating crepes with another person that Fleur had forgotten about after a semester of living on her own. As Hermione would eat her crepe, Fleur would be in the middle of making one for herself. It meant that they were rarely eating at the same time. There was a lot of down time and more room for conversation than in a more traditional meal.

"Well, Harry had a bad living situation with his aunt and uncle growing up," Hermione answered Fleur's question while watching Fleur deftly handle the crepe batter. "So he usually spends Christmas at Hogwarts or at the Burrow with the Weasley family. And Lavender and Parvati are spending the first part at home with their families, and then I think that they are doing something together for the rest of it. Padma will probably join them as well."

Fleur looked over at her shoulder just in time to see Hermione sticking her finger into the chocolate sauce yet again. She shook her head and smiled, wishing for countless other moments with Hermione in the kitchen.

"And do they know that you're going to France?" Her question was tentative, shy.

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Lavender and Parvati have been teasing me all day. And Ginny, too, after practically walking in on us." Hermione shook her head. "I'm never going to live that down, mind you. Ginny is an unmerciful tease. Harry just sort of smiles and Ron… well, Ron is Ron." Hermione was kicking her legs slightly, sucking on her finger and looking thoughtful and completely unguarded. Priceless.

"I think Ron likes you, Hermione." Fleur stated simply after flipping her crepe.

"Poor Ron, the two girls he's fallen for prefer women." Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure he'll find someone." And then Hermione paused. "Is your calling him by his first name a sign that you're no longer uncomfortable about him?"

"One can assume." Fleur shrugged as she melted the cheese on top of her crepe and wondered if there was enough spinach left.

"Ooh, what kind are you making?" Hermione stood up, suddenly more interested in Fleur's meal than a discussion at hand.

"Cheese, apples, and spinach. And I might finish off the rest of the basil as you do not seem all that interested in it." Fleur explained, holding back on asking about Hermione's parents. 

* * *

An hour later Fleur sat on the counter (there was a lack of chair space in her small kitchen) watching Hermione as she did the dishes. The brunette had insisted on washing them as Fleur had cooked. When Hermione claimed that it was only polite, she had that look in her eye that Fleur knew not to challenge unless absolutely necessary.

And so Hermione stood at the sink with sleeves rolled up past her elbows washing the dishes the muggle way. And when the drying rack was full, Fleur found a dishtowel and began to dry the dishes by hand so she could start to put them away. While there were magical spells for all of this, both women seemed perfectly contented on dragging out the moment. Moments passed silently this way until Hermione turned shyly to Fleur.

"I like this," she stated simply. She then blushed and shook her head. "That sounded silly. I just meant that, you know, you make me happy."

"You do not sound silly. I was thinking the same thing," Fleur smiled, trying to make eye contact with Hermione.

"I'm nervous about France," Hermione admitted quietly as she handed Fleur a plate. "What if your parents don't like me? What if Gabrielle doesn't?"

"Hermione," Fleur smiled softly, "I cannot think of a single reason why they would not like you."

"Well, how I treated you in the beginning, for starters."

"That is in the past. My parents knew me all through my adolescence and they still find it in themselves to love me. They are quite supportive and forgiving individuals. I do not think you have anything to worry about."

"And Gabrielle?"

Fleur shrugged before opening a cabinet and putting the plate away. "Gabrielle is nothing to worry about unless you treat her as such. Then she will work hard to fill the role she has been assigned. She does not like to disappoint." Closing the cabinet door, she looked straight at Hermione. "Hermione, she loves me. There is a bond between us that we share both as sisters and as veelas. It would be an understatement to say that we are very close. It is because of this that you need to trust me when I say she would never consciously or deliberately destroy anything that makes me happy. And you make me very happy."

Hermione looked up from the dishes and smiled. A look of relief washed over the brunette's features, but mostly Hermione just smiled. It was one of those small moments that mean so much. The look on Hermione's face, vulnerable and happy… Fleur could not help but smile (and blush) back. Forward.


	15. Nervously

Taking the slightest of moments to recover—apparating was never an entirely pleasant sensation—Fleur did not rush to open her eyes. Even with her eyes closed though, she knew she was home. The salt air and the distant sound of waves crashing against the far off shore welcomed her home. The air even felt less English, more French. More like home. And when she felt a familiar squeeze on her hand, there was nothing Fleur could do to hold back her smile. Hermione was there. With her. And it seemed like yesterday when Fleur never thought that this would actually really ever happen.

"Here we are." Fleur spoke after a moment. Here did not really look like much of anything, however. It wasn't supposed to. Even in the light of day, there would not have been much to see. Fleur had them apparate them to an out of the way location, a preventive measure for the muggles. And other potential disasters.

"I have a confession to make. I should have told you before we left but," Fleur shook her head at herself. "I did not have us apparate at my house because there is something that I need to talk to you about." She exhaled. Nervously. She should have mentioned this before they left. She didn't know why she didn't, honestly. Perhaps she was afraid that Hermione would back out at the last minute. "Please just listen."

Hermione regarded her slowly. (Nervously.)

"Hermione, my house… There is no way around it. We have house elves. Now I understand your stance on the matter and I am not trying to ask you to compromise on it. However, nothing can change in a night and you have to understand our families have been together for as long as anyone can remember. Longer, probably. Elzy and Josom would find it the greatest injury if offered their freedom. Please," she smiled softly, nervously, incredibly anxious as she saw Hermione about to interrupt. "Allow me to finish. We treat them as our own family. And our relationship with them is not what one has come to expect between wizards and house elves. If after seeing them and how they are treated you are still feeling disturbed, please come to me. I will discuss the situation with my parents. But, I ask you to see for your own eyes first."

Even in the dark, Hermione's face told a single story of displeasure. "Fleur, you know how I feel…"

"I do. But I ask you not to jump to assumptions and to please learn of our particular situation first. I am not defending all house elves wizard relations. I even agree with you that most situations are absolutely horrendous and should be remedied. I am merely asking you to treat this as a unique situation and to hold judgments off until tomorrow and away from my parents. Please? I will even give you a tour of the house elves' living quarters in the morning and you may speak with Elzy and Josom personally if you desire. Ask them whatever you wish."

Hermione nodded slowly, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "All right."

Fleur smiled with relief and kissed Hermione softly on the lips. "Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it."

* * *

When the two girls finally apparated into the entryway of Fleur's home, Fleur was immediately filled with that familiar and welcoming warmth that accompanied home. When she turned to Hermione, her face full of anxiety.

"Do not worry," Fleur smiled and squeezed Hermione's hand. She moved in for a soft (quick) kiss, but was interrupted by a familiar, lilting voice.

"Ma cherie!"

Apolline stood in the doorway beautifully backlit by the warmth of the room behind her. Taller than Fleur and barely showing any signs of age, the two women truly looked like they could be sisters. Witnessing Apolline stand in the doorway, even more than from the family portrait, one could easily discern where Fleur acquired her natural grace and beauty. Apolline was a formidable woman, intimidating and untouchable whereas Fleur smiled winningly, openly but shyly. Hermione watched silently and awkwardly as the two moved in for a loving but brief embrace accentuated by two kisses on the cheek.

"Welcome to our home, Hermione. We are honored to have you." The woman smiled welcomingly, if a bit formally, as she turned to Hermione and moved in for a similar embrace. "Please do come inside."

Hermione started to bend down to pick up her bag but as soon as she did so Apolline spoke again.

"If you desire, you can leave your bags and coats here." And then, as if more to herself, "I am sure Tristan will not mind bringing them up for you since Elzy and Josom are asleep. They had wished to remain awake to see you Fleur and to meet Hermione, however they began to nod off after dinner. The holidays are so exhausting. I continue to offer to hire additional seasonal help for them but they perpetually refuse. And frankly, we expected you a little earlier," the woman shook her head quietly bemused. "Anyway, your father could do with the exercise. He seems to believe that Christmas has already begun and is eating as if this is his last."

"Mother," Fleur chuckled to herself as they followed her into the kitchen, "the holidays have barely begun and you are already bothering him about eating?"

"Exactly. The holidays have barely begun." She spoke in lofty tones, arching an eyebrow and looking humorously imperious. "I love your father always and dearly, how could I not? But it is not good for him to eat so much. I fear he will become pudgy as your Grand Oncle Antoine. It runs on his side of the family, I'm afraid."

As Apolline spoke, Fleur was carefully watching her lover's face, observing her expressions. To be honest, Hermione appeared just as overwhelmed as she did in the gay bar. (Where were Hermione's baby steps?) However, hearing what her mother just said, Fleur could not help but laugh. Hermione smiled fondly, shyly, trying to participate in a family joke. It was clear that although she had not the slightest idea who the two woman were speaking of, something about their interaction and about Fleur's reaction made the statement humorous and interesting.

"It is said by some," Fleur turned to her lover to explain, "that my Grand Oncle Antoine so round that one could roll him down a large hill and he could reach speeds fast enough to defeat Marco Molyneux, the French broom racing champion."

"Ah oui," remarked Apolline with an air of knowing, looking back at Hermione as they moved into the parlor. Her tone suggested that she was about to impart some great wisdom. "Which is why one always avoids being at the bottom of any hill on which Antoine resides."

Fleur carefully (nervously), subtly (hopefully) observed her lover's expression. Overwhelmed and surprised, Hermione soaked in Fleur's childhood home in a strange kind of wonderment. Like her summer cottage at Hogwarts, did this house not fit into Hermione's perception? It was not an ostentatious abode, especially in comparison to the villas owned by other members of her family. But this was why Fleur loved it. Her parents always took pride in being the least extravagant members of their large family. Even though it was not ostentatious, it did have an unmistakable grandiose quality. They did not go to lengths to display or hide their wealth. It was simply there, like the air.

When they entered the parlor, a loud stomping could be heard making its way down the stairs. Soon a blonde blur raced into the room and nearly tackled Fleur to the ground with a huge hug.

"Gabrielle, ma cherie," Fleur smiled warmly as her arms wrapped around her younger sister, rocking backwards a few steps but quickly recovering from the force of Gabrielle's greeting. She kissed her lovingly on the forehead.

Gabrielle looked up and smiled, questioning in quick French about why couldn't have Fleur come sooner. Fleur laughed and shrugged, trying to explain but giving up quickly as she could not truly explain the need to linger in the kitchen over the dishes. It was something Gabrielle would have to come to understand on her own.

Gabrielle then turned around, still leaning up against her sister (possessively) to look at Hermione. Hermione waved shyly, looking like she felt a bit out of place. Hermione who looked so absolutely beautiful despite the nervous light she held in her eyes.

"You are far shorter than I imagined," Gabrielle remarked in English after a moment of sizing the brunette up with her eyes. "It is unimpressive."

"Gabrielle!" Fleur and her mother shot her horrified and scolding looks respectively.

"So are you," Hermione shrugged casually, working up a smile and looking strangely at ease all of a sudden. Perhaps she had expected worse?

In response, Gabrielle sniffed her nose. "I am eleven." She snuggled closer to Fleur (possessively), who was still glaring down at her. "I am allowed to still be short." At this response, Fleur could not help but to laugh quietly.

"I see you have met all my lovely ladies," a handsome man leaned up against the doorway smilingly warmly. Unlike his wife, he seemed to be showing some signs of aging. His amusement seemed permanently carved in his features, adding a distinguished quality to his face. "Gabrielle, you have to explain to your Papa why is it you have such an issue with short people when it is not an issue with Elzy and Josom?"

Looking at her father for the first time in a couple of months, Fleur was suddenly more aware of how different from the portrait he now looked. He had aged several years and put on a bit weight. He was still tall and handsome, yes, but his frame, no longer slender, had filled out with time. Perhaps there was some truth in her mother's nagging. Or, at least, she better understood her mother's loving concern.

"Elzy and Josom cannot help being short Papa. They are elves. Wizards, we are supposed to grow, that is why it is unimpressive when we do not." Gabrielle explained logically.

"Ah, I see," Tristan murmured wisely, a twinkle in his eye. Turning to Hermione, he offered her a warm, welcoming smile. Clasping her hands in his own larger ones, he looked her straight in the eyes as he greeted her. "Welcome to our home, Mademoiselle Granger who I have heard so much about. I have been wanting to meet you for some time."

Hermione smiled, seemingly unable to speak for a moment. "Thank you." Pause. Shy hesitancy. "And you have?"

"Certainly." He tilted his head, studying Hermione for a long moment. Fleur prayed he would not say too much and give too much away. Hermione still knew so very little about the courtship ritual. As if sensing his eldest daughter's attention, he reached out and tucked a stray hair behind Fleur's ear.

"Those who interest my daughter, interest me, and you, Mademoiselle Granger, have apparently captivated her interest."

"Please, call me Hermione," Hermione blushed slightly (a lot).

"Welcome to our home, Hermione," he smiled, warmly, approvingly. "Did I say that already?" He moved over to his wife. "Apolline, you need to keep me better in line."

"Thank you for allowing me into your home so last minute. It is very beautiful." Hermione's eyes traveled around the parlor as she spoke, taking in its humble but honest beauty.

"It is, though I find the people within are the true source of beauty if one allows me to a sentimental old fool," Tristan's eyes wandered around the room, following Hermione's as if wanting to see it through her eyes. "Ah, ma Fleur, it is so good to have the family together again."

* * *

Apolline and Tristan sat in matching recliners while Gabrielle, Fleur, and Hermione shared the comfortable, leather sofa. Gabrielle leaned (possessively) on one side of Fleur and Hermione sat (a bit stiffly) on Fleur's other side.

"Is this your first time in France?" Tristan smiled warmly, kindly trying to shake off any last remnants of awkwardness that was still lacing their interactions.

"No. I've been here a few times before with my family, but I've never been to Honfleur specifically." Hermione shifted in her seat unsure of what else to say. "Mostly we stuck to the more touristy parts and lot of time getting literally lost in Paris."

"Hopefully our daughter will give you a tour tomorrow." As Tristan spoke, he reached out and intertwined his fingers with his wife's. "Our town, it is not the largest in France, but I would like to think it is among the most beautiful."

"If she is up to it," Apolline added, though almost to herself.

"I will be up to giving a tour if Hermione desires one," Fleur interjected stubbornly. The traveling, though they apparated twice, had not exhausted her beyond what a good night's sleep could not recover her from. She was sure of it.

"Can I come too?" Gabrielle piped in.

"I don't think so, Gabrielle," Apolline shook her head, her tone soft but sharp in its warning.

"But—" Whatever sort of protest Gabrielle was about to make Apolline silenced it with a look.

"Gabrielle, ma geant," Tristan slipped his hand from Apolline's and opened his hands extravagantly, as if presenting his youngest with some invisible present meant only for her, "I have need of help at my work tomorrow. Would you like to see if the wand of Simone Brussard is still in operating order?"

"You found it Papa?" Gabrielle moved towards the edge of the sofa with eager eyes, "You are sure it belongs to her? I thought you weren't sure if it was a copy or not."

"We believe it to be the actual wand but it needs to be tested by some brave individual," he leaned back in his seat, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Does ma geant wish to be the one to test it with her Papa tomorrow?"

"Oui!" Gabrielle exclaimed eagerly, bouncing on the sofa enough to cause Hermione to fall (slightly) into Fleur.

Fleur, never one to miss an opportunity, slid an arm around Hermione's waist. A gesture met by Hermione moving into the touch. A soft smile crept onto Fleur's features when Hermione rested her head on her shoulder. When Gabrielle turned to share her excitement with Fleur, she frowned instantly as seeing their new position. For a long moment, she merely studied Hermione, who stubbornly remained cuddled in the crook of Fleur's neck.

"Fleur says you enjoy to read. Do you know of Simone Brussard?" Gabrielle asked after a moment.

"A famous French sorceress. She is claimed to be the first to discover the way to communicate with dragons." Hermione answered in a voice similar to one that she used in class.

"Though there is some debate that this actually occurred 200 years earlier," Tristan slid his hand back into Apolline's.

"In Azzerad's essay, yes, but I found some of his source material a bit shaky in points." Hermione replied comfortably. In conversations such as these she almost always felt instantly at ease.

Fleur smiled proudly at Hermione. To Gabrielle, she only gave a shrug. Her sister would have to try harder to one up her lover.

"Papa is the Head of the Department of Magical Artifacts at the Museum of Magical History. In Paris." Gabrielle puffed up proudly.

"I work with magical artifacts. My specialty lies in the very tedious act of validating their origins and place in history," Tristan explained in a far more modest tone than his youngest child. "I am afraid my occupation is not nearly as exciting as my wife's."

Fleur was for the most part content with listening and watching the conversation happen around her, being more exhausted than she would like to admit. She observed how when Tristan spoke, Hermione smiled, obviously impressed by his job. Her eyes then shifted to Apolline, but hesitantly (nervously). She was, after all, by far the more intimidating parent.

Apolline turned to look at her husband, as if finding the subject of their employment boring. "Nonsense. I work with the Ministry."

Tristan chuckled at his wife's simple response and he spoke in a warm but teasing tone. "My wife, you will have to excuse her. She enjoys being mysterious as she is convinced that it makes her more attractive. As if such a thing could occur."

"So you're a seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione?" Apolline leaned forward with an increased interest in Hermione as she made an obvious conversational shift. She shot her husband a look as she spoke. (A playful look, but a look just the same.) "Fleur tells us that you live in Gryffindor house. She tried to explain the housing system you have there in England, but I am afraid to admit that I did not quite follow it the first time hearing it."

"Hogwarts is divided into four houses after each of its four founders. Each house is based on the traits that the founders favored and the students are sorted into houses according to these traits. The house we live in determines not only where we live and eat, but also our friends for the most part and, in the earlier stages of study, our class schedule."

"In Gryffindor, the trait is bravery." Fleur added. When Hermione looked at, Fleur smiled. "I am right, yes?"

Hermione nodded, blushingly, as if suddenly realizing that Fleur was bragging about her to her parents. It was as if she was saying see, not only is my girlfriend smart but she's brave. And the way the word brave moved past Fleur's lips it was evident it was a trait the family prized.

"Is that not the house that Monsieur Potter lives in?" Tristan crossed his legs. "I remember reading something about that in some newspaper article around the time of the Triwizard Cup." (No one noticed that for a moment Fleur stiffened at the mention of such an unpleasant time in her history.)

"Yes, we're housemates." Hermione paused, as if deciding if she wanted to continue. "He is one of my closest friends actually."

"Ah. I suppose that makes sense." Tristan shook his head thoughtfully. "And the other houses, what traits do they possess?"

"Well, Ravenclaw is wisdom, Slytherin ambition, and Hufflepuff is loyalty."

"And what if one of the students does not have either of those four qualities?" Tristan considered thoughtfully.

"Well, I…" Hermione bit her lip, shifting in her seat (closer into Fleur), as if the idea had never come across her mind. Or anyone's mind for that matter. "I read  _Hogwarts, A History_  and I don't think that it has ever really happened. The sorting hat always finds a house for you. It just takes a longer time with some more than others. It is actually an interesting ritual to watch. With some the hat is barely on the head, while other times it can stay on for as long as a minute or two deciding. And the houses cheer when someone is sorted into them." Hermione smiled wistfully. It was a ritual she would never witness again. "There is a great feast that follows afterwards. It is a dearly beloved tradition."

"Interesting." Tristan nodded again with a look of sincere interest on his face. "A place for everyone." He paused, playing with a thought in his head. Fleur bit her lip, afraid that she knew what he was about to say. "Out of curiosity, which one did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named live in?"

"Slytherin."

"The ambitious one?" Pause. "But of course. Do they teach you about Him in your history classes? Of course they do. And do they ever mention the French Resistance? Let me tell you-…"

"Tristan, please," Apolline groaned with exhaustion. "Not tonight. We have guests."

Her annoyed demure, however, melted away as Tristan leaned in closer to murmur something in her ear. It was first a barely audible apology, and then whatever he said next was quieter, private. A soft blush came to Apolline, her features melting into an expression of soft devotion. Seeing this everyday commonplace interaction of love and affection only made Fleur feel even more like she had finally come home.

Fleur caught Hermione's gaze shift from her parents onto her, an expression of wonder. Was Hermione wondering if she could make Fleur look at her the same way with that soft devotion? Fleur paled, trembled. To have Hermione know just how much power she held over her… no. It would mar their relationship. 

"Fleur," Apolline broke her attention from Tristan. Her tone was soft, but firm. "I know this is rude to say in front of company, but you look exhausted and a bit weak." Her motherly instinct kicking in, she stood up and kissed Tristan softly on the forehead before turning her full attention on her daughter.

Fleur looked up (thankful for the interruption). "I am fine. It was just a reaction to-…"

"The apparating exhausted you clearly." Her mother sighed, shaking her head. "However, I would rather be safe on this matter."

Fleur sighed and turned to Hermione, giving her a soft look before standing up. "I will be back shortly."

Ushered into the next room, Fleur leaned up against the counter as Apolline closed the door behind them. Once the door was closed, Apolline regarded her for a moment more before she began to look through the kitchen cabinets.

"Mother, a dose is far too extreme. You know what Grandmother says about building up a resistance. You already have Pomfrey holding me to a daily regimen." Fleur knew it was useless, but she still felt compelled to try. And who knew for how long she would be dependent on this potion? "Adding to this any further could be dangerous."

"Your Grandmother, while well intentioned and full of theories, is a full-blooded veela and does not fully understand these matters. Also I am fairly confident that you are more inclined to skip dosages than double them up—why I will never figure out as this is helping you stay alive—so I am sure that taking two today to help you recover from traveling will not hurt." A pause. "Besides, it is my hope that, well with Hermione, building up a resistance is not something we would have to worry about…"

Fleur did not respond as she watched her mother rummage through the cupboards. Apolline quickly discovered where she had a batch of doses in the back of the cabinet. Months since Fleur's last visit and they had slowly been pushed to the very back. She handed a vial to Fleur who took it slowly. "And drink all of it."

Without another word or even look, Fleur swallowed her potion. Like always, she was incapable of hiding her disgust at the taste.

Apolline leaned up against the wall, crossed one arm across her chest while her free hand absentmindedly playing with the rings on her fingers. Fleur regarded her mother carefully. Playing with her jewelry, like blowing on her drink, was never a good sign with her mother.

"I did not know how many bedrooms to have Josom make up, just your room or two. You did not indicate in your owl," her mother shook her head, as if this was the most exasperating thing Fleur could have done. Which really, Fleur knew, in some ways it was. She had told her mother nothing of their budding relationship, afraid to jinx it. So she had just told her that Hermione was coming.

"I really do not know what Hermione would be comfortable with to be honest." Fleur shrugged. "We have only shared a bed once and it was rather on accident." Seeing Apolline arched eyebrow, Fleur explained with a tone of amusement and… well, something else. Sadness perhaps. "We fell asleep while talking a few nights back." Fleur did not feel in the mood to divulge the race to the classroom and the frantic attempt to cover up their indiscretion. "It is still, as we say, early days."

Apolline smiled, however it was apparent that this was not the answer she had wanted to hear. "Very well. I will offer the second room. She can always say no," pause, "and join you on the sly."

"Mother!"

"What?" Apolline refused to look apologetic. "A mother can hope, can she not? I would love nothing more than for your courtship ritual to be complete. Your health is a definite improvement from before, true, but you still do not look well. And I continue having thoughts of poor Anuk," Anuk who never did complete the ritual. "My heart will not start beating properly until both you and Gabrielle have performed the ritual. At this rate, however, Gabrielle will be probably already sealed by the time you fully complete it."

"Mother, that is sheer hyperbole. We are taking things slowly, yes, but you have to understand. She's still young. And my student. There are complications."

"Formalities," her mother waved her hand casually. 

Fleur opened her mouth to protest, visibly frustrated. Her protest, however, did not leave her lips. She saw her mother's face, nervous and anxious. This was not an easy ordeal for a mother, watching her child in love. Watching her child in love when her child's health (and life) was at stake.

"I know how you love her." How could she not? Apolline was more veela than Fleur. "And how you must complete this in your own way and on your own time. However, I worry." Her eyes lifted up to meet her daughter's face, a soft smile now on her features. She extended out her hand and gently, lovingly caressed Fleur's cheek. "You are still my little girl."

"I will be fine," Fleur reached up and covered her mother's hand with her own. "I will." She repeated it more for herself than for her mother.

* * *

Back in the parlor, the two women found Tristan excitedly discussing his work in magical artifacts. His enthusiasm was mirrored in Hermione and Gabrielle as the three seemed to be exchanging their own knowledge on this and that famous wizard or sorceress. Despite Gabrielle being so young, it was an active debate full of theorizing. She was her father's daughter, after all. The two women lingered in the doorway watching the scene, not prepared to enter it quite yet.

"Your Papa, he is always like this," Apolline spoke quietly so as to not disturb their conversation. Her eyes were lovingly fixed on Tristan. He was in mid-explanation about the importance of his latest magical artifact dig. The way he was explaining it made it sound extremely interesting, a talent unfortunately not shared by most of his colleagues. "I think that there is no one he cannot make comfortable while in his presence." Her gaze shifted to Fleur and locked on her with a look that was both restrained and curious. "Your Hermione, is she the same?"

Fleur shook her head and chuckled. "No. She is like Papa in that she loves knowledge and she is forever curious. She is not like Papa with people, I do not think." Fleur smiled endearingly. "Hermione is terribly shy, and she often tries to hide this with bluster and bravado. She finds confidence in her knowledge. But she is oh so very kind, Mother." What began as an endearing smile transformed into an unbidden smile that curved on her lips, "She thinks, no, she worries about others, and she has this desire for everyone to have a good life, a fair life. This sense of justice, this passion mixed with empathy and compassion."

For a moment, the two women were silent, merely content to watch those they loved talk. When Fleur turned back to face her mother, her expression was one of seriousness and absolute certainty. "She would never hurt me."

"Then I think I might be able to like her," Apolline whispered back softly. Underneath her smile was a tone of equal certainty. Then without another moment's pause, Apolline walked into the parlor, leaving Fleur in the doorway with a stunned expression on her face. It took Fleur only a second to recover before she followed her mother back into room.

"Are you feeling all right?" Hermione asked, her voice and expression soft and concerned, as Gabrielle nestled back into Fleur.

"I am well," Fleur replied, getting her words out around the heart in throat. Her lips quirked up at the corners playfully. "You are with me, how could I not be?"

"Flirt."

* * *

An hour later, Tristan and Hermione had once again comfortably settled into discussion, this time about history books. Gabrielle, who could not easily enter the conversation, had resorted to braiding Fleur's hair with an intense interest. However, she was more and more on the edge of sleep yet refused to go bed before everyone else. Apolline and Fleur, either unable or not quite willing to enter the conversation, merely smiled politely watching the two people they loved.

"I do not think you are interpreting Burbanks entirely correctly. Are you reading it in English or the French translation? I have heard that the syntax in the French translation can be misleading in places."

"Perhaps you are correct. I am solely relying on the French translation in this debate. Point taken. I will look for the English version next time I am in England." Tristan smiled warmly. So genuinely interested that he even pulled a quill off the nearby table and a notebook of his pocket and scratched a note to himself.

"As fascinating as this discussion is, it is growing late." Apolline stood up from her chair. She had watched Fleur's exhaustion for long enough and Gabrielle was bound to be grumpy in the morning if she did not sleep soon. "I believe that we shall have a full day tomorrow so it would be best if we took advantage of these remaining night hours for sleep." Gabrielle, the most exhausted of the group, groaned. "All of us. Especially those who wish to make certain trips into the city."

When going to their rooms, Hermione hesitantly chose the second room. Her flushed face only turned further red when Gabrielle, who had been following behind, made a side comment in French. Apolline instantly frowned, while Tristan laughed (a little nervously). Fleur's father had a loving, warm laughter that came from deep within. It was infectious, but on this occasion it only earned a glare from Apolline. Fleur herself did not join in the laughter. It was clear that Hermione did not understand (or appreciate) the joke. Especially since Gabrielle looked so proud for having said it.

"Do not encourage her, Tristan. Her… humor would be better served in more appropriate situations. It should not be encouraged when it is downright rude." Apolline looked practically exasperated.

Hermione's eyes flashed between Gabrielle and Fleur. "Did she just say what I thought she said?"

Gabrielle smiled innocently, this time choosing to speak in English. "I called you a prude."

"I thought so." Hermione remarked in a matter-of-fact way. "I suppose that it is the eleven year-old's job to be short and the eighteen year-old's job to be a prude when visiting her girlfriend's parent's house for the first time."

It was then that Fleur covered her mouth, holding back her own quiet laughter.

* * *

There was something relaxing and comforting on the most basic and obvious levels about returning home to your own room after having been away for so long. But this time more than the other times, it felt less like home in the present and more like home from the past. There was a new level of distance. Not from the people, but from the physical space. So as comforting as it was, it was also quietly disconcerting.

Maybe it was because there was nothing connecting her to her bedroom anymore. Her bedroom was nearly as sparse as her one at Hogwarts. She was never one to spend a profuse amount of time in her room and therefore never felt that moved to decorate. But now, she wished she had taken the time while she was still at home. She wished it had a stronger sense of her younger self. By her bed she had pictures of friends and family. There was her parents, several of Gabrielle, Philippe with her other cousins, Philippe with friends from Beauxbatons. Most of room consisted of bookshelves filled with books she hadn't read in years and dressers filled with clothes she no longer wore. Their top surfaces littered with bottles of perfume, make-up, jewelry and recently wiped away dust. But a staleness just the same.

She lay underneath her duvet and her eyes looking nowhere in particular but refusing to close just the same. Her journal sat open but untouched in front of her. On her nightstand sat a book a relative had given to her for Christmas the year before that she had not had time to read yet. She toyed with the idea of trying to read the book as she knew Louis would ask her about it at the Christmas party. Or maybe she should just turn out the light and go to bed. The traveling had exhausted her more than she would like to admit. But she still did not yet feel like sleeping.

It was somewhere in the midst of her idle pondering that she heard a shy knock coming from the other side of the door. Sitting up in bed, she could not help smile to herself. She had secretly been surprised that Gabrielle had not stopped by sooner, as was her usual habit when Fleur came home. And since Hermione had opted for the second room (what a gentleman), there was nothing stopping Gabrielle.

"Come in Gabrielle." She spoke in French.

The door opened slightly and Hermione's head peeked in. "If I'm not Gabrielle, can I still come in?"

Fleur's breath caught in surprise and she smiled. "I do not know. What's the password?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her. "I mean, if you're expecting someone else to sneak into your room late at night…"

Fleur shook her head and patted the bed next to her. "Do not be ridiculous. I am happy you came."

Hermione (nervously) sat down on the bed crossed-legged, her eyes lingering on the suggested form underneath the duvet.

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. Just thinking in bed." Fleur arched her eye as Hermione sat a safe distance away from her on her full size bed. It made her frown slightly. "It is possible to come closer you realize."

"It's dangerous. I remember what happened last time." Hermione arched her eyebrow up playfully, suggestively.

Fleur responded only with a look that seemed to say that she did not see how anything was wrong with that. Then, suddenly realizing that her journal was lying open in front of her, she quickly closed it and placed it on the nightstand on top of her book.

"Writing down secret thoughts about me, are we?"

"Maybe." Fleur grinned playfully. "Perhaps it's a love poem."

Hermione blushed a little and laughed. "You write poetry?"

"Hermione, I am French." At times, it was best to leave things up to mystery.

"Okay." Hermione drew the last syllable out, her eyes not leaving Fleur. And then she sighed. "I apologize. I don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, I just…"

"You are just in my bedroom sitting on my bed." And when Hermione gave her that look, Fleur sort of gave a facial shrug as if to say What, I am telling the truth.

"You know what I mean."

"I do, but it does not necessarily mean that I know the appropriate response. I am as new as this as you." Fleur stuck out her hand. "Come closer?"

Hermione gently took Fleur's hand and slid into her. For a moment, they nestled up against each other silently. Fleur idly played with Hermione's hair and Hermione traced her finger up and down Fleur's forearm.

"Its overwhelming being here with your family. They're all so… alive."

"I hope so," Fleur scrunched her face up. "I rather not think of them otherwise."

"You know what I mean," Hermione groaned, but did not stop following her finger trace up and down Fleur's arm with her eyes. "My house is more quiet and I'm an only child. But your family…. They have energy. I like them. And your house, not what I pictured but they definitely make more sense I think. And I like you most of all."

Fleur lifted Hermione's chin up and kissed her. It was soft and warm, comforting and exciting. As the kiss deepened, the nervousness of the two girls slipped away, replaced by a new intensity. With a blanket and their clothes as the only barrier between them, the kiss deepened. And hands slid down, around, and all over. (Almost. There was still a shyness, a quick, hesitant lingering.) After several minutes, Hermione pulled back (anxiously) with a jolt.

"I… I don't want to have sex tonight."

Fleur opened her eyes, having a hard time to switch gears. Sex? When had that been even brought up? "What?"

"I mean I just don't… I mean, it's late at night, we're on your bed. But I just don't… I don't want to have sex tonight. I'm sorry. I'm just not ready." Hermione pulled a little away, twisting her hands awkwardly, nervously.

"Hermione," Fleur clasped the girl's face between her hands and kissed her softly on the forehead. She spoke quietly and slowly. "I do not desire to have sex tonight either. I am not ready. We are not ready. It would be foolish." (Too much. Too soon. Too forward. Too fast.)

"Really?"

Fleur looked Hermione directly in the eye. "I promise. We said we were planning on taking us slowly. I see no reason to change that now."

Relief flooded over Hermione's face, but a shy nervousness still clung there. And she buried her face in Fleur's chest. "It's so embarrassing. I'm a virgin."

"Do not be embarrassed about it. I am not embarrassed by being one. And it is not anything either of us is in need to change anytime soon." Pause. "I mean it."

Hermione exhaled and bit her lip, pulling herself off of Fleur's chest to look at her lover. Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione and pulled her body closer. Hermione wrapped her arms around Fleur's body, resting her head in the crook of Fleur's neck. In the silence of the moment, the sound of a foghorn off in the distance slipped into the room.

"How close do you live to the sea?" Hermione asked as Fleur began to one again play with her lover's hair.

"I will show you tomorrow."

"I would like that."

Fleur's hand slid down from Hermione's head and began to scratch Hermione's back gently with her nails.

"Can I spend the night?" Hermione asked after a few more moments of silence where Fleur had been simply content to watch and touch the brunette.

"I would love that." Fleur closed her eyes and held Hermione tightly. "So much."

There was so much still to do, so far to go, but all that mattered in that moment was that it felt right. Hermione slipped under the covers and back into Fleur's arms.


	16. Apolline at the Kitchen Table

Hermione was not the first person Fleur had shared a bed with. There were slumber parties growing up, beds shared between friends late at night at Beauxbatons and in the carriage at Hogwarts. Gabrielle was well known for crawling into bed with Fleur. (She and Bill had never shared a bed together. What she had done with him was taboo enough, but share a bed? Unimaginable. Kissing him felt like a betrayal, treason enough.) But this—sleeping next to Hermione—this was different. Songs had been written about the mere act of lying next to your lover, sharing a bed, not sex necessarily, but just the feeling of your body melding, bending and fitting into the other. Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione's sleeping form tightly, lovingly. Hermione held tenderly (gripped so strongly it seemed like she would never let go) onto Fleur's arms that were around her. (Forward.)

Fleur woke up in the middle of the night to a dull ache in her shoulder and to the comfort—the rightness—of sleeping next to Hermione. For a moment, too groggy to identify the source of the pain, she shifted her weight slightly to better make out Hermione's shadow in the darkness. Lifting the weight off her shoulder, she realized that she had been lying on it in a strange position. It took her a moment longer to realize that she should roll over and a few more moments to actually shift, reluctant to let go and turn away from Hermione.

But no sooner had Fleur adjusted than Hermione, half-asleep, also adjusted, rolling over and encircling Fleur in her arms. Once again Fleur was surrounded by the warmth and scent of her lover's body. Inhaling deeply, Fleur allowed the Hermione's unique scent to surround her. If a smell could be quiet than Hermione's was. Delicate was not quite the word for it and fragile was out of the question. It was a soft scent of clean laundry, of freshness where something sweet and feminine hid underneath. Elusive perhaps, but not delicate. It was a calming smell, something to fall asleep and wake up to.

And when again Fleur woke up hours later she breathed in her lover with the morning. But it wasn't the morning rays or her lover who woke her up. A small, brown owl was scratching impatiently at the window. Confused for a moment, reluctant to leave her lover's side, Fleur finally stood up and opened the window. Immediately the bird flew past her to the bed and held out its leg to the still slumbering Hermione. He shook his leg a little, miffed at being ignored by the sleeping beauty.

Smiling softly, Fleur walked around to the other side of the bed and kissed Hermione softly on the cheek, licking her slightly to wake her up. It seemed that if she did not wake Hermione up soon, the owl would peck her awake. Hermione turned towards Fleur, her eyes still half closed, and pouted.

"Licking is against the rules when I'm asleep," the brunette mumbled as she pouted playfully.

"My sincerest apologies. However, we have a visitor and I believe he has something for you and he is most persistent that you receive it." Fleur smiled gently, pointing her head towards the impatient owl.

Hermione scrunched her face in confusion before following Fleur's gaze to look at the owl. "Oh! It's Lavender's owl." She sat up and began to untie the letter from the owl's foot. "He is a bit of an attention whore, as Lav calls him."

The note was small and Hermione quickly read whatever was on the page. Fleur was respectfully trying not to read it, but as she watched Hermione, her eyebrow arched up (with curiosity and only the mildest tinge of jealousy).

"Hm? What'd she say?"

"She just wants to know how things are in France and also wanted to whine about not seeing Parvati until after Christmas. She says I'm lucky because I get to spend the entire break with you," Hermione shrugged. "Nothing important. She just gets bored at home. I'll write her back later."

The owl, however, had other ideas and proceeded to peck her until Hermione began to write a reply.

"Tell her that I wish her a happy Christmas," Fleur said as she once again got up from bed and began to brush her hair, idly wondering what dress she wanted to wear today. "And if she gets too jealous" (too bad for her) "tell her that I am giving you a lot of homework to do."

From the corner of her eye and the reflection in the mirror, she caught a deep blush coming onto Hermione's features. Fleur closed her eyes and shook her head. "I am going to pretend that I did not catch that blush as otherwise I am not sure that I will be able to teach classes all next semester knowing what sort of things you and your friends are alluding to about me and my homework." Fleur paused and then a devilish smile crossed her face. "On another thought, I could use this to my advantage, hm?"

For a moment all Hermione could do was blush and then embarked on protesting fervently.

* * *

It was another hour at least before Fleur made it down to the kitchen for breakfast. Hermione, who had all her belongings in the other room, would follow in a minute. It being eleven, the rest of the family had already eaten and her father and Gabrielle had left for the museum. So when Fleur came down the stairs, Apolline was sitting by herself at the kitchen table sipping on a cup of coffee and looking through a folder of reports with a furrowed brow of concentration.

"Ma cherie," she smiled, looking up at her daughter's entrance as she quickly closed the folder and sent it out of the room, "good morning. I have a pot of coffee on if you are interested."

Fleur walked to her mother, wishing her a good morning and kissing her on the cheek before moving in the direction of the coffee.

"Careful of the coffee, Tristan allowed Gabrielle to brew it this morning and so naturally it is rather strong. Personally, I really do not believe that anyone should be allowed to make coffee until they drink it themselves, but you know how your father is."

Fleur nodded quietly, making a mental note to at least add a bit of extra cream and sugar. And perhaps some water.

"So Hermione decided to sneak in to your room after all, hm?"

Mid-pour of coffee, Fleur whipped around in a deep red blush. "Mother!"

"I may be your mother, but please remember my line of work, hm?" Apolline smiled wryly. "You usually wake up in time for breakfast and usually with less of a bounce to your step. One has to deduce something. Let me know if I figured incorrectly?" Fleur returned to pouring her coffee without a word. "Ah, the beginnings of love."

Fleur sighed, returning to pouring her coffee. "It is truly a trial having a mother in espionage."

"Hm, indeed, it is only my line of work that allowed me to figure that out. You live a difficult life, ma cherie."

It was at that point that Hermione walked down the stairs fully dressed and holding back a yawn. "Good morning," she smiled shyly. She paused in the doorway upon seeing the facial expressions on the mother and daughter "Am I interrupting something?"

Fleur smiled, but her mother cut in before Fleur could say anything. "Oh, I am merely teasing my daughter. You are more than welcome to join in."

Fleur sighed, shaking her head, trying to change the subject. "There is some coffee left. It is rather strong I am warned. Would you like some?"

Hermione nodded to Fleur as she took a seat next to Apolline. "Teasing her, about what?"

Apolline smiled over her own coffee. "The difficulties of being smart, beautiful, and having a lover of a similar stature." Her smile widened at Hermione's blush. "You two are far too easy to tease this morning."

"Thank you, Mother. We live to entertain you."

"Someone has to. Gabu only gives me ulcers these days. I swear she will be expelled by her third year."

Fleur shook her head, handing a cup to Hermione before sitting across from her at the table. "Mother, I am sure she will settle down with age."

Apolline shrugged. "Anyway, onto happier topics. Hermione, how did you sleep last night?"

Hermione blushed and Apolline smiled before taking a triumphant drink of her coffee.

* * *

After a breakfast of croissants, jam, and Apolline's teasing, Fleur guided Hermione along a detailed tour of her childhood home. Hermione was impressed not only by its size, something she had not fully grasped the night before, but also by its austere decoration. In every room, it was clear that the Delacours were a rather affluent family, but this was not an emphasized point. The house was neither a museum nor homage to their wealth. Instead, it had a homey, lived-in quality that was more comfortable than grandiose. Until visiting their villa, this was not something Hermione thought was possible. Not that she had given a lot of thought to this sort of thing.

When they reached Elzy and Josom's room, Fleur had a jolt of nervousness. While, yes the two house elves lived far more luxuriously than most, maybe it still was not up to Hermione's standards. And then what? Fleur did not know. Would Hermione think less of her? But she did not have time to think because almost instantly the door flung open to reveal Josom's exuberant face.

"Mademoiselle!" his scratchy, little voice squeaked. And behind him, Elzy came running. The door opened fully to reveal a room, about the same size of Fleur's, occupied with two small beds and cluttered with various odds and ends. It was decorated with smaller portraits of the Delacour family running down the generations as well as portraits of what Hermione could assume to be past house elves. The portraits were all in miniature, but still the walls were crammed and cluttered. The only place where a new one could be added were a few remaining spots on the ceiling.

Fleur crouched down and scooped them up in a warm hug. "Elzy and Josom, how are you?"

"Oh so busy!" Elzy began to answer, and then her face turned up to look at Hermione and her grin widened. "Oh! I heard you was coming." She curtsied. "We have heard so much about you miss, oh yes we have. Hermione, yes?"

Hermione crouched down as well so that they were speaking on the same level. "Yes, and you are Elzy and Josom?"

The two elves grinned widely, proudly. "The very same!"

"We are so glad you both could come. It is such a pleasure to see Fleur looking in improved health." Josom added, looking down shyly.

"I wish we could stay longer, but we are every so busy." Elzy nodded, rolling her eyes at Josom.

"So busy!" Josom chimed in.

"Apolline tells us you are about to tour the town. Stop by afterwards if you find a minute. We are almost finished with the decorations. The house shall be the Delacour envy again this year, trust us. We have a few new things in store, oh yes indeed!" Elzy beamed proudly.

"Oh, and please tell your poor, dear Mother to stop the nonsense about extra help," Josom spoke softly but proudly. "Our families have handled this Christmas party for generations!"

Fleur nodded. "I will try to persuade her."

"Now off with you. We have decorations and you have to show her Honfleur. It's going to rain later and you do not want to be caught in the wetness." Elzy shooed them out.

* * *

Hand in hand the two women left the house a little after one. As much as it was nice to be home, by then Fleur was more than happy to leave the house. She had been inside for too long and was feeling restless. The fresh air, though biting, felt good against her face and in her lungs. She played up the cold as an excuse to huddle closer into Hermione's body as they walked down to the port. (Not that Hermione would have minded if she did that without an excuse and she was quite sure that Hermione saw through it anyway.) Dressed in muggle clothes, the two walked around the old port and the town, Fleur showing Hermione her old haunts from her childhood (here is where I used to play with the neighbor's children, here is where I cast my first spell, where I used to buy candy, my first perfume, where Gabrielle…). They walked along the port looking at the boats and birds flying overhead and then headed back into town. Fleur gave Hermione a tour of the shops while finishing up on some last minute Christmas shopping that she had been unable to complete in Hogsmeade. (An azure scarf for her Father and a few books on music for Gabrielle.) After, the two sat in a café, talking and enjoying each other's company away from the family.

It was a nice, quiet day away from the staring eyes of Hogwarts. Not that other people weren't looking. Fleur naturally attracted attention. But this was a different kind. Not the kind that spread gossip and rumors or the quiet looks from the Delacours, anxious, nervous and loving. And since Honfleur's population was almost primarily Muggle, no one even knew who they were. It was refreshing. People were watching, yes, but for the first time, they were eyes that did not truly matter.

Around four thirty Elzy's weather prediction, as always, began to become true as the downcast sky began to darken and threatened to break. Fleur quickly paid the bill (to Hermione's protest), and the two ran home. When the rain began to fall, the two were nearly home.

Shaking off the rain in the entryway, Apolline greeted them once again in the doorway of the coatroom. Once again the warmth of the indoors glowed behind her in a motherly light. Once again she had interrupted a kiss.

"Heavens, I see you did not escape the rain. After talking to Elzy, I was afraid of that." She shook her head. "I put a kettle on when Elzy was not looking. She was too busy to be disturbed, I fear she will yell at me if she discovers that I have done such a horrendous deed as putting the kettle unattended." Apolline's eyes darted around in jovial suspicion. Part of it was in jest, but there was some truth behind it. 

Once again at the kitchen table with her mother, Fleur sat across from Hermione cupping the steamy tea in her hands. It had been silent for a moment and her mother had that look on her face again. It was obvious to Fleur that something was on her mother's mind that she wanted to speak about.

"Philippe stopped by." Apolline blew some steam off her tea unsuccessfully hiding a look of disapproval.

Fleur crossed her legs and tried to make her voice sound as casual and as uninterested as possible. "Oh?"

"I offered to let him stay and wait, but he declined after I informed him that you and Hermione were taking a tour of the port."

Fleur stirred her tea with vacant interest, not completely unaware of Hermione's confusion and curiosity at this sudden and strange family dynamic. "I was unaware that he was back from England. Is he still working at Gringotts?"

"For the holidays," her mother answered in a tone that stated that she did not believe Fleur's ignorance. "I believe he is still there finishing out his foreign exchange." Unlike Fleur, who had left early to teach at Hogwarts, he had stayed to finish his undercover post at Gringotts.

Fleur shrugged. "It was a painfully boring job Mother. I much prefer teaching."

"I am glad that he declined my offer." Apolline blew over her cup again, ignoring Fleur's last statement. Hermione merely sat back, sipping her tea, and watching the two woman with a look of mild confusion.

"Mother, he is a perfectly nice man. I always thought…" But Fleur trailed off. What did she always think? She knew that he had some questionable opinions, yes, but she always looked past them (if not momentarily swayed by them when no one was looking).

"I do not like him nor do I trust him."

"The two often go hand in hand," Fleur replied noncommittally, which only made her mother groan with frustration. "I would hardly call him the black sheep of the family though. I saw the guest list, he is on it and in your handwriting I might add."

"I invited him for his mother's sake." Apolline shook her head. "Poor Agnes. First Anuk and now he's deliberately…" The woman groaned again. "He is breaking his mother's heart and probably his own as well. And if not his heart, his health."

Now it was Fleur's time to groan. "It is his choice, Mother. Besides, we don't even know if he had found his… person yet."

"At his age? The family is neither stupid nor dense, Fleur. Just because he has not said anything does not mean it has not happened. Besides, even if he was not a veela, to take up the way he is with a random assortment of lovers..." Apolline frown deeply. "But as a half veela, he is on a dangerous path."

Fleur bit her lip but could say nothing to defend or attack the man. She could barely understand his motive herself let alone defend them to her mother, especially with Hermione present. There was so she did not know yet, and for now, Fleur wanted to keep it that way.

"Who is Philippe?" Hermione asked in a voice acknowledging that she was probably asking a taboo question.

"Philippe is my cousin, so to speak," Fleur explained. "He… he has made a few choices in his… lifestyle that most in the family do not agree with."

"That is putting it lightly and diplomatically," Apolline mumbled over her tea.

Hermione arched her eyebrow, but said no further. Fleur knew that the subject of her wayward cousin would soon be brought up later and probably (hopefully) in private. It was not a conversation Fleur looked forward to. While she enjoyed her cousin's company, she wished that he were a bit more of a respectable delinquent at times. If not for himself, then at least for his family.

"When are Papa and Gabrielle returning?" Fleur spoke in hopes of changing the topic of conversation.

"In an hour or so, I imagine. Unless Gabrielle has convinced him to take her shopping or to buy her some treat that will absolutely ruin her appetite for dinner. And in that case, who knows?" Both women rolled their eyes, knowing that this was most likely going to happen. Tristan was always hard-pressed to say no to either of his daughters. "Perhaps I should tell Elzy and Josom that we are going to have a late dinner."

"Elzy would be insulted if she realized that you did not naturally assume that this was already taken into account," Fleur teased and soon the conversation moved onto lighter topics. But Hermione had that look in her eye, a suspicious curiosity. It was not one of Fleur's favorite looks.

* * *

"Whose Philippe?" The first minute they were alone, Hermione took no moment of hesitation to bring Philippe back up.

"Philippe is…" And Fleur sighed (groaned more like it). She did not know how to explain the taboos he was breaking openly without fully explaining the courtship ritual to Hermione, something that neither was ready for. Things had to evolve, to develop naturally. There could be no sense of things being forced or pressured, she did not want to give Hermione too much power over her (or at least, have Hermione realize how much power she had over Fleur). But there was Hermione waiting for a reply and the only one Fleur could give was an honest one. "I suppose you could say Philippe is my cousin. We went to school together." Fleur began, and Hermione's expression seemed to indicate that she expected Fleur to say more on the subject. Obviously. Fleur was just buying more time.

"He is a… he is making some choices that run contradictory to our veela heritage and culture." Fleur shook her head. How could she say it? It was the biggest taboo for veelas to take up a lover who was not their chosen mate. Dating was fine up to a point as long as it wasn't taken seriously. It was seen as a form practice. But after finding one's mate? What she had done with Bill, no matter how brief and innocent, was unspeakable and shameful. And Philippe? He had found his mate, whoever that might be, and had taken to either scorning or downright avoiding that individual as far as Fleur and her family could tell. The man continued to date around, trying to take matters into his own hands and find someone else to fall in love with besides his chosen mate. He was convinced that if he could find love with someone else, then he would survive, that it was love itself that veelas needed not the particular person. He believed the courtship ritual could be experienced with anyone. His family, Fleur included, feared that he would kill himself in the process.

And he had wanted to save Fleur from Hermione, as he put it. He thought that together that they could do it, they could fall in love, perform the courtship ritual and be happy. They would be revolutionaries, he said, and free half veelas from outdated biological and social tyranny. Philippe was an idealist.

"He is a man who wanted to be my lover." The sentence came out before Fleur realized that it was on her lips. And as she spoke, she could hear the arrival of her father and sister back from the museum. There wasn't much time before Gabrielle would find them and this was not a moment that should be interrupted or intruded upon. She watched Hermione's face, with nervous apprehension. Hermione's expression remained blank, except for the slightest change in her eyes and in the corners of her mouth. It was a subtle expression of utter disgust. Of insecurity. Of doubt. Of pretending not to care. Of pretending to be sure and confidant.

Fleur reached out gently cupping Hermione's cheek with one hand and took Hermione's hand within her other. Hermione made a half-attempt at moving away, but Fleur stepped in closer.

"I will not let you go." Her words were barely a whisper as her eyes searched out Hermione's. "You are my lover, Hermione, and I am yours. I cannot dream nor desire for it to be any other way. Everyone else is nothing compared to you. I can repeat this to you a million times over and the sincerity behind my words will never waver. I promise you that." (I love you.) "Philippe is a fool. He has always known very well how much I care for you." Fleur prayed that Hermione did not pick up the briefest of hesitations where she almost said love you instead of care for you. 

Hermione nodded stiffly for a second before exhaling relief. She moved into Fleur's body, wrapping her arms around Fleur's waist and resting her head in the crook of Fleur's neck. Fleur pulled her in tighter and kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "I cannot say it any other way." (She could: I love you. I love you. I love you.)

"I care for you so much, Fleur. So much." The emphasis Hermione placed on her quiet words sent chills down Fleur's spin.

Fleur did not say a word as she saw Gabrielle's form dart from behind a wall and back towards the kitchen where Apolline was calling her.


	17. Overheard Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Abuse Mention

When neither girl seemed to be looking, Fleur and Hermione became accustomed to living with each other. Their days and nights became interwoven patterns and moments of quiet discovery. Though neither could recall who or how it began, hello, good morning, and good evening all became accented with a small kiss. It became assumed, expected that Hermione would show up at Fleur's bedroom dressed and ready for bed at night. And after Fleur turned off the light they would curl into each other, learning the many ways their bodies fit together before drifting asleep. In the morning they would awaken to the sun streaming in past Lavender's brown owl pecking incessantly at the window. (Fleur soon learned that the owl's name was Shiva, which spurred a whole conversation about just how long Lavender and Parvati had been together.) Like young lovers with all the time in the world, they enjoyed their quiet mornings, ignoring the ticking of Fleur's bedside clock, the bustle of noise below. Fleur would write in her journal, read, or fall back asleep while Hermione would scrawl a response to Lavender. (Fleur did her best to suppress her occasional mild tinges of jealousy knowing that it was silly and pointless. Hermione was lying happily in her bed after all. But one is not always rational.)

And on the morning of Christmas Eve, their day began just like that. The two lovers lay side by side peacefully in bed. Fleur finally finished the book her Great Uncle Louis had given her the year before. Hermione diligently wrote to Lavender with a quick and carefree pen stroke.

After turning the last page of her book, Fleur looked to the now-accustomed sight of Shiva hopping around her room pecking at things seemingly at random. Like so many mornings before, she thought that she should probably do something to stop the owl or occupy his attention. But like so many mornings before, she contented herself to merely observing. He was incredibly similar to Gabrielle's Lothaire and Fleur amused herself with the idea of what would happen if those two owls were ever in the same room together. Absolute feathery destruction. Thinking that the mental image was altogether too good not to share, Fleur turned to Hermione. However, the words caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon Lavender's letter that lay face up on the bed between her and Hermione. Her eyes inadvertently read the first few lines before she could look away.

"Hermione…?"

"Hm?" Hermione half-looked up as she finished writing something down.

"Why does Lavender ask if she and Parvati are still in France…?" Fleur tried to ask the question casually as possible. It was not just the fact that she thought the couple to be in England with their respective families, but it was also how Lavender had phrased the question.

Fleur silently watched Hermione pick up the letter and look at it for a moment. "Well," Hermione dragged out the word before exhaling, seeming to speak more to the letter than to Fleur. "I…" Pause. A beat. "I told my parents that my holiday plans had changed from going to the Burrow and that I was going to France..."

"And…?"

"Well, I told them that I was going to France." Pause. "With Lavender and Parvati."

"Oh. I had wondered how you had told them." Fleur's tone was distant and small. Hurt. She had been under the impression that Hermione had told her parents something that more closely resembled the truth. Or at least part of it. Though, suddenly searching her mind, Fleur wondered what this half-truth she had wanted Hermione to say was. What exactly had she assumed, had imagined Hermione had said? She hadn't asked because, in truth, she did not want to know.

Hermione gently placed down her quill and letter. "Fleur, it's just that…"

"No. Really. It is fine. I guess I just presumed that…" Fleur shrugged, trying to sound as calm, as normal, as unhurt as possible. She was being irrational and she should stop, she knew that. Suddenly filled with the desire to move, to do something, she pulled the duvet off her body and began to stand up. "Really, it is fine." And it was, fine that is. She just needed a moment. And to get dressed. Suddenly, what she really needed to do was get dressed.

Hermione reached her hand out and grabbed Fleur's arm (tenderly) when Fleur was halfway out of bed. "Fleur, obviously it is not fine." And Fleur could hear the distress, the worry in Hermione's voice. She was as much surprised by Fleur's pain (Fleur's insecurities) as Fleur was.

Fleur sat back on to the bed and exhaled slowly. "It is what you felt like you needed to do. I cannot judge you for that. I am merely being irrational. Our relationship, it does not come without it's complications. I know this. To pretend otherwise would be foolish. I apologize."

"Please, listen to me Fleur. I tried to tell them. I wrote them about ten different letters and couldn't send a single one. There are just so many things... This—us, it's so new to me. A few months ago I thought I hated you and that one day I would eventually get over whatever my problem was and get married to Ronald." Hermione took a moment to breathe, to really look at Fleur. "But then I realized what my problem was." Her hand extended across the space in between their two bodies and gently stroked Fleur's cheek. "And it isn't something I want to get over because it isn't actually a problem. So now I'm lying in bed with you in your parents house in France for Christmas because this is where I want to be. Because it's what feels right. Because my problem, or whatever, was that I never even wanted to kiss, let alone marry Ron Weasley. I just wanted to myself to want that. But with you… I don't have to want to want. I just do. It came naturally, despite my not even wanting it to at first, and now I want you more than I thought I could ever want another person." Fleur stared at Hermione, her expression of insecurity softening to the point Fleur almost appeared as if she was moved to tears. It was the most coherent, the clearest Hermione had ever spoken about her feelings, at least to Fleur. And her words calmed and soothed down her insecurities.

"Hermione, I am not angry. I am just…"

"Hurt, I know." (Hurt and insecure.) "And I didn't mean to hurt you, but I need time. My parents and I are growing so distant as it is and they only think I'm witch, let alone a… a gay one. And this is something so big and it makes me so happy. So incredibly happy." For the first time since the conversation began, Hermione searched for Fleur's eyes, ducking her head to lock their gazes. "But Fleur, I'm afraid that they won't see it like that. At least not right away. And I think that this is something that I have to tell them face to face and not through a letter. This is… you are so important to me Fleur." Hermione's hand slid down Fleur's arm to grasp her hand, to intertwine fingers. The way she said 'so important to me' once again sent warm chills down Fleur's spine. "I want to do this right. I need to tell them in person so that they can't help but see how incredibly happy you make me and how much I… how much I care for you. And I want to tell them when… when there isn't this fear that they might pull me out of Hogwarts because my girlfriend is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

In a conversation of so many firsts, it was the first to acknowledge the depth of some consequences to their complicated relationship. The most pressing issue at hand had seemed to be Hogwarts—the students, the professors, and what would happen if it got out. Hermione's parents, while a huge part of that equation, had sort of gotten lost, at least to Fleur. But in the muggle world, Hermione was still a minor. And they would always be her parents.

But then there was the fact that Hermione had just called Fleur her girlfriend and Fleur could not help but smile (who knew that Hermione Granger would someday be the ultimate rule-breaker).

"What?" Hermione furrowed her brow suddenly confused, not expecting this sudden change from her lover. "Why are you smiling?"

"This is the first time you have called me your girlfriend."

"Well, you are, aren't you? And I called you my girlfriend in the bar, if you can recall."

"I remember, however technically it does not count. We were not girlfriends yet. At that point, I was only your date and you were simply being chivalrous, if not a little possessive. In the cutest way possible, but still possessively chivalrous."

"You are impossible," Hermione laughed before leaning in to kiss Fleur. Her girlfriend.

"Would they," Fleur pulled away after a second, "really pull you out of Hogwarts, because of us?"

"I… I don't know. Probably not? They know how much Hogwarts means to me. Maybe I am just being paranoid. But our relationship is not the most… conventional. It will come to a shock to my parents when I do tell them, especially while I'm still your student. I mean, everything is going to be different from what they expected, isn't it?" Hermione shook her head. "I don't really want to talk about them right now, if you don't mind. There are other, pressing matters to attend to."

And Hermione leaned in, reclaiming Fleur's lips. It was just a quick kiss, but others quickly followed, each one lingering longer. Deeper. Hermione brushed aside her letter so as to move closer, move into Fleur. Their tongues met as Fleur's hand slid down Hermione's side to rest temporarily on Hermione's hips. Oh, how she loved the feel, the warmth of Hermione's hips. Fleur never wanted to let go, she wanted to be lost in that kiss and never relinquish her hold on her lover's mouth, her lover's body. But they were not so lost in the kiss that she did not hear the soft click of her bedroom door closing and the unmistakable sound of two light feet running down the hallway.

"Gabrielle…" Fleur pulled away from the kiss hovering only inches away from Hermione's lips for a moment. She closed her eyes.

Hermione stiffened. "She's been spying on us?"

"It's a horrible habit she needs to grow out of," Fleur admitted with a sigh. "I think she overheard us talking about Philippe the other day as well."

Hermione made a face, one that was actually quite similar to the one Philippe used to make when Fleur talked about Hermione. Jealousy. "Philippe… He's going to be at the party tomorrow?"

"I imagine so if he is in town. I mean most of the family is going to show up at one point or the other. It is quite possible however that we might not even see him there."

"How would we not run into your cousin at the family Christmas party?" Hermione did not need to wait for Fleur's response. She suddenly saw it fit to ask another, entirely different question. "Fleur, exactly how big is your family?"

"It is… sizable."

"Fleur..."

"Well, my grandmother Adele has six sisters and they all had a few children who also had a few children." Fleur explained hesitantly but casually as possible as she did the math in her head. "And they're all invited."

"How many is a few?"

"Well, Adele had five children, which is think is typical." Fleur shrugged casually as Hermione's eyes seemed to almost bug out. "A lot of veelas believe in big families. It's not until recently that, well …"

"That…?"

"That the families become smaller." A common post-war trend, partly due to the fact that large portions of families and clans had been wiped out. Even if there was still a tendency to have many children, there were still inherently less. "I only have five first cousins on my mother's side. And my father's side of the family is much smaller." Fleur tried to sound reassuring, but Hermione's eyes remained in their rather large and overwhelmed state. "The Delacour clan is not overwhelming large. We are simply… sizable."

"How big is this party going to be exactly?" Hermione repeated, insistent on a real answer.

(About as big as your eyes my dear.) "Not more than a hundred or so," Fleur tried to sound nonchalant.

"A hundred or so?"

"Give or take fifty. Mostly take, maybe a little more. We have to invite everyone. It is a family Christmas party after all."

Hermione blinked. "I don't think my family is even half the size of yours Fleur. And they'll all be here?"

"The majority, I assume."

"Where will they all fit?"

"Magic?" Fleur shrugged. "My house is fairly large and the party is a mingling, move from room to room sort of affair. It is not entirely as large or as overwhelming as I imagine I am insinuating."

Fleur stood up and walked towards a nearby bookshelf. Her fingers ran across the spines, silently relishing in the sensation, stopping at a familiar spine belonging to a tall and relatively thin book with a worn binding. "It just seems like a lot at first. And it is not as if you will be expected to remember everyone's name." Lord knew that Tristan still struggled from time to time. In fact, he was probably in his study examining the family tree tapestry to brush up on his cousin-in-laws. Fleur smiled softly at the thought as she retrieved the book she was looking for from its resting place and sat back down in bed next to Hermione. Hermione, almost instinctually, curled back up against Fleur as she wrapped her arm around the brunette.

"What is this?" Hermione looked at the simple book binding with a look of curiosity.

"The Delacour family tree." Fleur opened the book and began to flip through pages, stopping about midway. It was a truly beautiful book. The tree was illustrated in a very stylized medieval manner with gilded curving branches and photorealistic portraits of her relatives. Below each portrait listed crucial information about the family member in a regal hand. "Here, this is my grandmother Adele and her six sisters."

"You have a beautiful family, Fleur," Hermione said after a moment of examining the page.

Fleur smiled softly and kissed Hermione on the forehead. "Thank you." She flipped a few pages forward. "This is my part of the tree."

The tree began with Fleur's grandmother Adele and her husband Marcos. Fleur's finger traced the tree, giving brief explanations of her family. Hermione listened intently asking questions when she needed clarification. Adele was a full-blooded veela who had married a human wizard, Marcos. They had five children: Aurelie, Antoine, the twins Agnes and Anuk, and finally Apolline, Fleur's mother.

"Aurelie lives with her mate Maria in Bulgaria. They adopted human wizard children. Their youngest Karla married into another veela family. She will mostly likely come tomorrow with her husband and their twin daughters Felice and Regina. I think they are two now. Or perhaps they are three? It is hard to keep track. As they're not biologically related, they are not on the tree but we are looking into a spell to change that. However, for now, I remember them being blonde and very cute." Fleur slide her finger across the family tree. "Oran, Antoine's widow, will most certainly be here tomorrow as she lives with Agnes down the street from us. I am not sure if her son Jacques and his wife will be there. I think Eva is about seven months pregnant."

"How did Antoine die?"

"He was an Auror, he died from the war." Fleur stated simply and Hermione nodded. "Well, he received a fatal magical wound about a year or so after Voldemort's fall while hunting down Death Eaters. He somehow managed to live for about ten years after in some considerable pain. Agnes says that it was because of the luck of the veela. However I am more prone to think of that as a superstition."

Fleur then slide her finger across the tree skipping past the branch with Anuk, "Agnes, as I said, lives down the street with Hugo."

"Who's Anuk?" Hermione pointed at the name that Fleur had skipped past. "How'd she die? The war?" Hermione saw the dates written below Anuk's name, and it was easy to draw conclusions.

"Oh… No. Nothing like that. Indirectly perhaps." Fleur bit her lip. For a moment, she hesitated. "I suppose that is something you should know. It is be bound to be mentioned tomorrow. Anuk is—was—is Agnes' identical twin sister. Like most in our family, she was part of the French Resistance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That is actually how my parents met. Have I told you that story?" Fleur tried to change the subject.

"No. But you were telling me about Anuk. And… Laurent." Hermione's eyebrow rose as she read the name written beside Fleur's late aunt. "Why do the other names have an ampersand in between them, like with your parents, and Laurent and Anuk don't?" In place of the ampersand was a lightly drawn line.

"Well, the ampersand indicates that the courtship ritual has been completed. With Anuk and Laurent it never was finished. He died. However since the ritual had begun, he name was already added to the family tree. It is the nature of the family tree, it knows about the developments in our lives even before even we do sometimes." Fleur was struggling with sounding nonchalant and casual.

"He died in the middle of the ritual?" Hermione looked confused. Having heard so little about the ritual and now this, it was probably concerning.

"They both died because of the war," Fleur sighed, wishing that was all she could say, but she knew Hermione would press her for more details. It would be easier if she just came out and said it. "Just not directly from it. Laurent saw a lot of death, a lot of horrible things that no one should ever have to see. His own brother died right in front of his eyes from the Cruciatus curse. The Cruciatus curse." Fleur shook her head. Sometimes she simply could not understand the horrors that people inflicted upon each other. "It changed him into something, into someone… He stopped being able to be the man that Anuk fell in love with. I was incredibly young at the time and I barely knew what was happening. But even still, I knew something horrible was happening between them. I guess at points it bordered on abuse, though no one ever touches on specifics. Anyway," Fleur shook her head, "he died towards the end of the war in battle. Some say he volunteered for a kamikaze mission to end his misery. Either way, he died and then a few weeks later, she died." Fleur bit her lip and exhaled. "And Philippe… he watched it all happen. I honestly think he would have turned out differently if… if not for that war."

"Anuk… she died from the illness, didn't she? The one that you have." Hermione spoke slowly after a moment of silence, her voice cautious and quiet. She knew that she was right and she wanted to be wrong.

Fleur chose her words deliberately. "In a way, yes. I suppose she did. It was a hard time to survive. So many people were dying and disappearing. It wears on you. And she was already weakened, yes, from the illness. So after he died... it destroyed her. She simply lacked the strength to move on."

"But he had been so cruel to her." And the look on Hermione's face was so similar to Philippe's, this sense of justice. Sometimes she was struck by how similar they actually were, though both would be loathed to admit it.

Fleur leaned her head up against the head board and stared at the ceiling. "I imagine it did not matter. She loved him. He was her mate, she was sealed to him even if the ritual was not completed." As she spoke, she cautiously turned her attention to Hermione. She knew Hermione was thinking, putting what Fleur had just said together with old information. Fleur could tell that she was figuring out bit by bit the nature of veelas in love. Soon Fleur would have to tell Hermione the full truth. But she needed time. They needed time. "Agnes is—was—is her twin. See how similar they look?"

"Who is Ovid? Is that Philippe's real name?" Hermione's eye traced down the tree to Agnes' children. The two names listed underneath were Ovid and Claire.

Fleur shook her head. "'No. His real name is Philippe Pomerleau. He is not actually my cousin, at least not technically or biologically. The Pomerleau clan was quite vocal in their opposition and participation in the French Resistance. And they suffered more than most veela families because of it. After his parents were killed, Anuk took him in. Then the war only got worse… Laurent started to change. In his defense, Laurent was such a gentle soul before the war. I doubt that he was able to handle it. Not that it excused how he treated Anuk, especially in front of Philippe." Fleur shook his head, it seemed all so distant now. "So it was decided that it would be healthier for him to live with Agnes and Hugo until Laurent… improved. A few months later, both Anuk and Laurent were dead. Agnes adopted Philippe as her own. After the war, Agnes had two children, Claire and Ovid. Philippe was treated like a big brother of sorts, but it was not the same I suppose. Or so he always told me. He has not had the easiest of lives."

For a moment, the two were silent. Hermione processing what Fleur had just said, Fleur not sure if she had anything else to say. Perhaps what she had said made him more as a threat. Hermione would have to learn to trust her devotion. If there was no trust then there was nothing.

"Does he really want…" Hermione spoke after a few moments.

"No. He desires to control who he falls in love with, to escape what happened to Anuk. I believe he loves the idea of being with me perhaps to save me from a similar fate as well, however I am in no need of saving and I am quite certain that he is completely in love with another."

Again, silence fell over the two as they became lost in their own separate worlds. So much could be said, but neither knew how to find the words to say it.

"And here's your mother." Hermione pointed back at the family tree in an attempt to change the subject. "And you…" Hermione's fingered lingered on Fleur's portrait, her eyes caught on something written there. Fleur's heart stopped. "And me. Fleur…?" Hermione spoke so quietly that Fleur could easily pretend that she did not hear it. But it did not change what was on the page before them.

"Hm?" Fleur tried to hold her voice steady and even. Why hadn't she realized… She should have just drawn the family tree. But she had wanted to show Hermione the beautiful illustrations.

"Why is my name written next to yours? I thought you said…" Hermione swallowed, and when Fleur did not say anything, the brunette continued. "Fleur, you've never told me what exactly the courtship ritual is. Has it… I mean, have we… because you—"

"Your name is on the family tree because we are in a relationship, Hermione." Simple enough. Would Hermione let her leave it at that?

"But you said-… So what we're doing now… it's all part of the ritual? It's not…" Hermione's unreadable expression, the furrowed brow, and her struggle to get her question only added to Fleur's anxiety. There was no hiding the hurt, the confusion, the betrayal in Hermione's voice.

"No. It is not part of the ritual. There is no line, however faint. Nothing's been started." Hermione had shifted away. "I swear to you. What we are is not… This is not some ritual. This is us." Fleur took Hermione's hand in her own. "This is us caring for each other and being with it each other. And yes, by being together on some level writes your name in the book. But only in the sense that your acceptance letter from Hogwarts initiated your graduation ceremony. Your name is in the book for only as long as you want it to be." Fleur bit her lip. She did not know what to say, but she knew she had to say something. "We are still so new and the actual courtship ritual is far off in the distance. It is too early, really, to even think about. Can… can we just be us, Hermione and Fleur, for right now?"

"But… but you need to do the ritual or…"

Fleur gently placed her finger under Hermione's chin to bring her face up so they could look each other directly in the eye. "There will come a time, yes, I cannot deny that nor do I want to lie to you. But right now? No. It is not something either of us is ready for. And I mean that when I say that. It is not something I want to rush or something that I want to define our relationship. When _and if_ it occurs, it will happen because we are both ready and want it to happen. For the right reasons. It certainly will not happen before you tell your parents about us."

For a moment, they were only silent. Hermione seemed like she was on the verge of saying something, but she never got the chance.

"Fleur!" Apolline's voice called from downstairs. "Why is there a brown owl pecking incessantly at Elzy and Josom's decorations?"

Somehow during their conversation, Shiva must have escaped, probably when Gabrielle had opened the door slightly to eavesdrop. Perhaps that is even when (and why) her sister left when she did. Fleur had just thought it was because she and Hermione had been kissing. But perhaps it was in pursuit of an annoying brown owl.

After a moment the two started to laugh. There was nothing else they could do or say at that moment. Both girls knew that their conversation was not over.

* * *

When Fleur and Hermione came down the stairs, Apolline was glaring at the persistent brown owl as it hopped haphazardly around the room pecking at the kitchen at random. In a matter of moments, Fleur had scooped the bird up, saving both the decorations and her mother's nerves.

"Mother, you could have stopped Shiva yourself."

"My nails are drying," her Mother smiled wryly, to which Fleur rolled her eyes. "For a moment I thought it was Lothaire."

Back in her room, Fleur made it her mission to keep the beast occupied while Hermione returned to finishing her letter. The younger girl seemed to take her time as she wrote two more pages to her friend. Fleur was sure (feared) without asking that the last two pages were about their latest conversations. It would be rude to ask, and besides doing so would bring the conversation back up. It was neither the time nor the place for that. Fleur wasn't ready.

After a while, when Hermione seemed to be almost finished, Fleur turned her full attention back to her lover. "Hermione, as much as I love these daily visits from Shiva, perhaps he needs a break. I am certain flying back and forth over the channel can be hard on such a small bird." Fleur shook her head. "Why not use my Zephyrine for a while? He is a bit more… subdued."

Hermione nodded. "That actually might be a good idea. Can we?"

"Please. I insist."

* * *

After breakfast, Fleur tried to find her sister but quickly gave up. Tristan thought that perhaps she was in the garden or helping Elzy and Josom. Apolline swore that she had seen the girl just a moment before in the pantry. Elzy and Josom claimed to not have seen the girl since earlier the morning. Gabrielle would only be found when she wanted to be found and knowing her sister, Gabrielle would probably make herself scarce for quite some time.

So instead of stressing herself out, Fleur decided to take a shower. At first she simply allowed the hot water to run over her body, relaxing her. (When did she become so tense? Wasn't this suppose to be her holiday?) But soon Fleur found herself going over the morning's events in her head. Fleur made the resolution that after the Christmas party she and Hermione would sit down somewhere away from her family and she would explain the courtship ritual in a better detail. There was no way around it now and Hermione did deserve to know the truth. She hadn't been trying to hide it, but no good time ever seemed to come up. Fleur knew, too, that she should probably do it sooner, that day even. But the Christmas Party was tomorrow and there was no time now.

So until then, she would speak to her sister. If she could find her. Fleur feared that Gabrielle had overheard the more inopportune moments of their conversations and was developing a poor picture of her lover. This, along with her habit of disrespecting her privacy, had to be corrected.

After her shower, Fleur dried her hair and wrapped her white towel around her body. There was no need to get dressed; her room was only two doors down. And if Hermione happened to still be in her room, Fleur could hardly mark it down as a tragedy.

Hermione, however, was not in Fleur's room. She was standing right outside the door fully clothed and holding a yellow towel.

"I was wondering when you were going to be finished," Hermione grinned, playfully feigning impatience. As she spoke, her eyes openly wandered along Fleur's nearly nude figure, seeming to fully appreciate Fleur's preference for smaller towels.

"One cannot rush beauty," Fleur arched her eyebrow up, not letting her lover's attention fluster her. Instead she leaned up against the doorframe as if to allow Hermione more time (and a better, but still tasteful, view).

"Hm, is that what they say?" Hermione leaned in and kissed Fleur softly before trying to slip past her to the bathroom.

"Not so fast," Fleur blocked the entrance into the bathroom with an outstretched arm, "What is the password?"

"Password?"

Fleur shrugged. It was hard to think smoothly while in a small towel in front of your lover. She did not have long to defend herself however. Hermione leaned in and kissed her again. This time it deepened quickly, their tongues found familiar places and hands roamed. Hermione's hand moved upwards, lingering for a moment on the forgotten knot holding the towel up before pulling back.

"Your towel is falling down." It had of course slipped down mostly from Hermione's own efforts. Fleur's eyes widened as she looked down. In the moment it took her to gather up her towel to cover her chest again, Hermione had slid past her into the bathroom. Blowing her a kiss, Hermione closed the door. "You better have left enough hot water or that will be the last kiss you'll get today."

Fleur rolled her eyes before she walked down the hallway shaking her head. Smiling to herself she muttered to herself about how a cold shower might not be all that bad idea right now. Suddenly her eye caught sight of a flash of blonde hair.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur broke out into a run down the hallway, carefully clutching her towel. "Gabrielle, get back here! Now!" She yelled in French, but as she turned the corner, her sister was already gone. "Gabrielle!" She called out one last time, this time more out of exasperation than with any hope of catching the girl.

Groaning, she went back to her room to get dressed. After all, she was not about to chase her sister around the house half naked. Fully clothed, she calmly headed down the stairs to see if she could track down Gabrielle, or at least help with any last minute party necessities while she waited for Hermione. Before reaching the bottom of the stairs, she realized that it was going to be one of those days.

Gabrielle was not the only person who Fleur could not find downstairs. The downstairs was almost entirely quiet and no one, not even Elzy and Josom, was to be found. Fleur moved from room to room only casually curious about the whereabouts of her family. Thinking that they were perhaps outside, she stopped briefly in the kitchen to pick out an apple from the fruit bowl. She lightly tossed it up in the air a few times before taking a satisfying bite of the crisp, red fruit. Instantly she regretted it, feeling a piece of apple lodge in between her two front teeth. As there was no one around, Fleur reached up to pick it out with her fingernail. It was then that she heard her mother's voice in the entryway.

Walking into the next room she found her mother looming imperiously in the open doorway in front of a familiar tall, blond man. She knew his figure (and her Mother's distinctive displeasure) anywhere.

"Philippe!" She grinned nearly dropping her apple.

"Fleur!" He looked up, a smile immediately flashing across his face and his eyes lit up.

Apolline hesitantly stepped aside as the two moved in for a (long) hug and two quick kisses on the cheek. Feeling the gaze of her mother, Fleur pulled away. "Come inside cousin. It is freezing out there."

"It is so wonderful to see you again, ma cherie."

"It has been a long time, has it not?" Fleur replied.

Fleur, with her back to the door, failed notice the appearance of Gabrielle and Hermione behind her. Nor did she see Gabrielle grabbing Hermione's arm, placing a finger on her small lips to shush the older girl, and dragging her away to a different location. Fleur, for all her powers of observation, only noticed Philippe silently requesting his aunt's permission to enter her household. Apolline gave it with a look of resignation. By the time Fleur turned around to lead Philippe into the living room, Hermione and Gabrielle had already disappeared. As Gabrielle had repeatedly proved on many occasions prior, the Delacour household was large and full of hiding places.

Philippe walked inside the Delacour house with a jovial smile.


	18. Eavesdropping

"Your dear mother said you were out," Philippe grinned playfully as he crossed his legs. They spoke in English, as had become their habit while at Gringotts.

The two friends sat across from each other in parlor (at a safe, neutral distance that did not go unnoticed by either of them). Even with the expanse of the room in between them, Fleur easily observed how the last few months were weighing heavily on Philippe. And while this did not surprise her, it saddened her. It was true that to an untrained eye he hid his exhaustion and weakness well. As always, he was an undeniably beautiful man. He had piercing blue eyes, long lashes, a freshly shaven face that leant him a boyish charm, and hair that fell across his face in the latest fashion. Even in casual wear, he seemed dressed and ready to entertain a queen or walk down a Parisian runway. But beneath it all there was the unshakable fatigue in his eyes, a weakness betraying him in the corners of his mouth and how he sat in the chair. Even how he moved his silver pocket watch over his long, graceful fingers whispered of their joint illness. Fleur could only wonder what she looked like to him. He could read her better than she him.

"I was in the shower," Fleur shrugged casually and leaned back in her chair. "It must be Gabu who is currently out." (A lie. She had no idea where Gabrielle was.) 

"So I see. Your hair is still wet." He paused, ever so briefly. "I also heard that your young English brunette is here. Are you hiding her perhaps behind a curtain from your scary older cousin? Or is she out with your sister perhaps?" He looked around in casual jest. 

"Hermione is upstairs in the shower. She should be coming out soon." She replied politely, ignoring the look he made when he mentioned her lover. 

"So I see." He tried to smile. "And other than your apparent cleanliness and good personal hygiene, how are you?"

"I am well, teaching is rather suiting me at the moment."

"At the moment?" His eyes perked up. "So there is a chance you might return to Gringotts?"

"I highly doubt that. It is a dreadfully boring job, Philippe." She laughed. "And the goblins never really liked me."

"Fleur, you are far too sensitive. Goblins look at everyone in that manner. Besides where else are you going to learn all the latest gossip?" he grinned as he alluded to their true role with the Ministry of Magic at Gringotts. However, before waiting for a response, he changed the subject. "You look healthy."

"As do you." (More lies.)

"Fleur, do be careful that your desire to be polite does not turn you into an outright liar. It would be an awful shame if the devil came and stole your tongue," he smiled weakly as he put away his pocket watch. "You have such an exquisitely diplomatic tongue after all."

"I have been worried about you." She sighed, but otherwise ignored his comment.

"Do not waste your time on such nonsense. You are almost as much as a wretched worrywart as my dear adopted mother," he rolled his eyes and then as if to change the subject, or at least alter it slightly, he added, "Gwen is up for the holidays. She is downtown doing some shopping right now, so I shall not stay too long. Though," he cracked a devilish grin, "I have the sense that five minutes in your house is far too long these days. I fear will not be awarded nephew of the year once again."

"Philippe, technically you are not even part of the Delacour clan so I believe you are exempt from that particular imaginary competition."

"Technicalities strike again."

"Gwen?" She changed the subject, struggling to find a happier, or at least a more pleasant, topic of conversation. Though instantly realizing that the topic of his lovers was never happier or more pleasant. "Is she your latest paramour? I hope she was not expecting a warm welcome. You did warn her, did you not? I can only imagine Agnes' reaction. Why must you feel so driven to bring them home?"

"Someday I will write a book about the women I bring home and my mother's reactions, so this is merely for research." He shook his head amused.

"I can only hope that you—"

"Don't say it," he cut in and for the first time his jovial expression dissipated slightly. "I hate to see how you have caved into this biologically barbaric tradition."

Fleur closed her eyes and let out a breath of frustration. "I was merely going to say that I hope you would change names and not include those illustrations you drew last May. As for your last comment, I am not going to entertain it with a response."

"They were entirely accurate and hilarious depictions of my relationship with Agnes and Hugo." He looked indignant for a moment. Fleur smiled, a small laugh escaping from her for a moment. At the time, they were hilarious drawings. And his book was only hypothetical. She hoped.

"As if you have not done enough damage to poor Agnes. How she has not yet to fall deathly ill from worrying about you I shall never know."

"The woman has a strong constitution." At least he had the decency to sound and look sheepish.

"And do you have one, a strong constitution?" Fleur did not realize when she had started to feel on edge in the conversation, but it was becoming quickly apparent that the direction of the conversation was not one that she wanted but could not fully control.

"Straight to the heart, my dear cousin," Philippe smiled as he feigned a pain in his chest. Whether what Fleur had said had hurt him on any actual level was hard to tell. "Though, I suppose I could say the same towards you. I see you have not performed the ritual yet."

"Philippe, I would rather not discuss the ritual with you." Her tone became exhausted with a tinge of frustration, her face resolved.

"Why ever not dear cousin?"

"Because the last time we discussed the ritual, our conversation did not end… pleasantly," Fleur chose her words wisely. It had been the night before she left for Hogwarts. His parting words had stung for weeks afterwards and haunted her throughout the doubtful time of Hermione's scowls.

"Did not end pleasantly?" Philippe shook his head, seeming to hold in bitter laughter. "Leave it to you to find a diplomatic phrasing for that night. If I, unlike you, can be frank, I believe you left in tears after screaming at me. Though, in your defense, I did my own fair of yelling."

"As I recall, you started it."

"What are we Fleur, five?"

Fleur crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very defensive. 

"And afterwards you never returned any of my owls. You haven't spoken to me since." He sighed, looking sincerely saddened.

Fleur crossed her legs, fully aware of how closed off her body language appeared. "We are speaking now and I would rather you not ruin it again, especially on Christmas Eve and before the party. Yelling and crying is thoroughly unladylike and goes fully against the holiday spirit," Fleur added, trying to lighten up the conversation.

"It has never been my intention to make you cry and you know that, Fleur. I hold you in the highest regard. I simply cannot accept your decision." His words were soft and truthful, but they hurt just the same.

"Despite your being my cousin of sorts and my closest friend, my relationship with Hermione is not something that requires your acceptance, Philippe." Her tone was steady, even and clear, unwavering. If he wanted to battle it out so be it, but on this point she would not budge.

"You deserve to be in a relationship where the power is equal, where she—or he—does not have complete control over you. You deserve someone who understands you, understands our veela culture and heritage. Look at your relationship right now Fleur. You are not well."

"Neither are you," Fleur interjected defensively. "It comes with the age and territory of being part veela, it has nothing to do with my relationship. And the balance of power in love and relationships is always an issue, veela or not."

"You are not well," Philippe repeated himself. "You might be safe in stasis for now, but what if things do not continue to progress? Or what if they, heaven forbid, digress even just slightly; do you think that your body can handle that? And when will the ritual occur? When she wants it to, Fleur. When she is ready for it. Regardless of your health. If your health were a serious concern of hers it would have already occurred."

"And you are one to talk? Look at yourself, Philippe." She shook her head, trying to keep control of her emotions. "You know nothing about our relationship. You know nothing about her."

"That is because you have not spoken to me since before it began. I am just wondering that if perhaps—"

"And who would this perfect match for me be, Philippe, hm? Who fits that large bill and who I could love with such an intensity that the ritual requires? Who are you to tell me that she is not that person? Because I am sitting her telling you that she is."

"And you do not know what is out there, who is out there. You are merely with the first person you fell for."

"No, Philippe. I am with the person that I love. I refuse to allow you to diminish that." The weight, the power in Fleur's words even surprised herself a little. "And I have absolutely no desire to be with anyone else. Do you not know that I tried?" Philippe was the only one in her family who knew about Bill. In fact, he practically encouraged her into it. (Though looking back he probably didn't mean Bill but himself.) "And it did not work, because I love her, Philippe. And I am with her because I chose to be, because I decided to be, because I want to be," Fleur saw a protest forming on his lips and she proceeded, refusing to give him a chance to interject. "She is kind and sweet and good in ways that I cannot even begin to describe. She has this innate sense of justice, this vast ability to care. She worries about the treatment of house elves, Philippe. House elves! How many wizards and witches do you know who care about them? And she has this hunger for knowledge, this curiosity, this unwavering bravery. This incredible capacity for sweetness." Without knowing when, a soft, warm smile had crept up on her face, in her eyes. Her tone softened. "I trust her with my life."

"For your sake, I hope that she is worth it and you made the right decision. You cannot go back now," his expression and his tone of voice were unreadable. Something struck Fleur as odd, but she was on the warpath and could not be deterred.

"And you would want me to?" Fleur, continuing on, was in no mood to correct him on the finer details. "What happened between Laurent and Anuk was a tragedy, Philippe. A horrible, awful tragedy. And I am so sorry that you had to witness it after having to experience so much pain already in your life. But Hermione is not like Laurent and I have no reason to believe that such a disaster would happen with us."

"She died, Fleur. It was more than a tragedy!" Philippe pounded his hand against the arm of his seat, causing Fleur to jump slightly. He shifted uncomfortably, tightening his body, visibly straining to regain control. Fleur had hit his soft spot. But he had hit hers first. (What were they, five?) When he spoke again, his tone was softer. "She died, Fleur. She didn't have to die."

"He died too, Philippe. And he watched so many other people die before him. It was a war. Horrible, inhumane things happened. And we have to move on."

"And you think that I do not know that? Hell, I know that more than I hope you ever will." His face became twisted with emotion. "You did not have to watch her die, watch her suffer and beg for him after he left her, after he died and after… And after all he had done to her. He took advantage of her every weakness, her every kindness, and she died because she could not live without him. Damn it, Fleur, you weren't there!" He slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair.

"No, I was not there." Fleur's voice was calmer, quieter. Her cousin's pain and anger sobered her up from her own. "But does that mean that I have to witness this self-imposed suicide of yours? You do not have to die like her to cherish her memory." She sighed, speaking softer. "Please can you try to understand my decision? I love Hermione and she cares for me. Perhaps she does not love me yet, but someday? Yes, I believe so." It was so soon, so earlier for the other girl. No. Remembering their conversation earlier this morning, Fleur was pretty sure that the answer was a resounding not yet. But yet, just the same. "Is your person truly that awful?"

There was a moment where Philippe looked at her silently. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "They, unlike Hermione, have given me no reason to trust them. So why should I submit myself to them when I could look for and find another who is truly worthy of my trust and love? Just because I am running out of time is no reason to compromise my happiness."

"Did you give this person a chance to prove it?" He did not response. "Could Gwen be this person, in time?"

"No, she is not. But Hermione is yours." There was sadness, yes, but it became hidden underneath something else as he spoke: a soft, loving smile on his face. The first smile she had seen on his face for a long time that was truly happy. And Fleur slowly played his words over in her mind and finally listened to what he was saying, what he was doing.

"You are positively infuriating bastard at times," Fleur shook her head exasperated and almost laughing with relief. "Why must you be so impossible?"

"Well, now I believe you. This is the only way I could," Philippe shrugged. He was always one to test, to poke, to pry, to push when he should have pulled. He never took people at their words, only their actions. "And now I can be genuinely happy for you."

"You are infuriating, cousin. You need to learn to trust me. I would not have chosen…" She shook her head, for a second lost in thought. And then she continued, quieter, softer, more somber and serious. "No, not unless it was real."

"I had to be sure before I gave my approval. So, cousin, now that I've thoroughly upset you yet again, tell me about what else has occurred in the last few months of your life? You owe me at least one amusing story from that English school of yours before I leave."

"It is called Hogwarts, Philippe. It has a name."

"I refuse to call it that on the merit that Hogwarts is an absolutely dreadful name for an academic institution," he shook his head as he allowed a more playful air to finally enter the room. "So besides her—wait, when do I get to meet her by the way?"

"Meet who?" Hermione's voice startled both cousins.

Fleur, who had opened her mouth, was surprised by Hermione sudden appearance in the room. In passing, Fleur wondered why Hermione was entering the room from her father's study. But Fleur did not have time to entertain the thought for long. Hermione crossed into the room and, stopping next to Fleur, placed a hand (possessively) on her lover's shoulder. When Fleur looked up from her position, she could see Hermione's eyes examining Philippe.

"Hermione, this is my cousin Philippe Pomerleau."

Philippe, who had been more than openly staring (examining) the brunette (the couple), stood up and offered his hand (like a gentleman). "Ah the famous Hermione Granger. Fleur was just singing your praises quite highly. I find now that she was being modest on your behalf. I am quite pleased to finally make your acquaintance."

Hermione stared at him warily for a moment longer before meeting his hand in a formal, if not a bit stiff, handshake. "It is nice to meet you as well. I have heard a lot about you."

"Ah," Philippe shook his head smiling charismatically. "I see we are on unequal footing then. For I have heard only good things about you and I am sure that you have only heard the worst of me."

"Philippe likes to paint himself the victim. It makes him feel more like a rebel, the attractive martyr." Fleur stood up, instinctually moving into Hermione and wrapping her arm around her waist. "Do not be fooled by his shenanigans."

"Shenanigans?" Philippe and Hermione both repeated eerily at the same time before looking at each other in surprise.

"That is the word that I used, yes," Fleur smiled at the two of them. If they could learn to get along, they might be surprised to find that they were actually quite similar. But as painfully hopeful as she was, she was not quite one to expect miracles. Like so many things, this would require time.

"This is my cue to leave before my welcome wears thin and Apolline appears with that disapproving look that I know and love so well." Philippe almost seemed to beam warmly at the couple as he spoke. "Besides Gwen is in town and I should save her from the perils of last minute Christmas shopping. It was nice to see you again, cousin, and to finally meet you Hermione. I am sure that I will see you both tomorrow at the party and a joyeux Noel to you both." Fleur made a movement to accompany him as he turned to leave. He held up his hand definitively and shook his head. "I have taken up enough of your time as it is, Fleur. I will show myself out. Ciao bellas."

"Ciao."

"Nice to meet you." And when Philippe had left, Hermione turned so that the two girls were facing each other. "So that was Philippe." Slight pause. "What did he want?"

"To meet you, actually. He wanted to know if you made me happy."

"And?"

"I told him the truth. He nearly made me cry," Fleur shook her head. "He likes you though. He is completely unable to be polite to anyone he has any sort of problem with, even if it's the color of their tie. I believe that is in part why the family sometimes has a problem with him." She paused, as if about to say more and then changing her mind. "He said he was happy for us."

"I don't know if I trust him yet." 

Fleur sighed. "He is harmless, Hermione. No one you should be worried about."

As Fleur spoke, Hermione looked down at her feet momentarily before looking back up at her lover. "I trust you, it's him that I'm dubious about."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Fleur sighed. No one ever said that this was going to be easy. Sometimes Fleur wondered, though, what exactly this was that made it have to be so hard sometimes.

* * *

 

The day before the Christmas party was not a day for quiet moments of contemplation, unless those could occur while doing one of the many things that still needed be accomplished before the party. Fleur and Hermione's time, usually left to their leisure, was filled with final touches for the party. Apolline and Elzy dominated the kitchen throughout the day cooking and baking. Josom would alternate between decorating with Tristan, searching for items he had stored throughout the house that were needed, and cooking his own signature dishes in the kitchen. Tristan would sometimes slink off to his study for a moment of solitude and to study the family tree. As a host, he was expected to know everyone's name, which he claimed—with a warm smile—was a near impossible task. Like clockwork, Apolline would soon discover him and send him back to work. Fleur and Hermione helped wherever they were needed, sometimes together but more often apart.

Gabrielle, of course, was still nowhere to be found. While this was by no means a peculiar event—Gabrielle would often disappear for an entire day only to return for dinner as if she had merely been in her room reading and then would disappear again after clearing her plate—it made Fleur nervous. She wanted to talk to her sister before the party tomorrow and time was running short. Gabrielle would probably have enough sense to show up for Christmas Eve dinner and Fleur supposed she would have to hope that she would be able to catch her then.

Fleur tried to keep her mind from overanalyzing the day's events as she searched for her Great Grandmother's soup bowl and crystal (the silver just having been located a few minutes prior). Josom knew where everything in the house was far more intimately than Fleur, who had not truly lived in the house since she had left for Beauxbatons, but the house elf was busy in the kitchen. As she foraged through drawer after drawer, cupboard upon cupboard, she could not help but think of what she and Hermione had talked about, about Philippe, and the impossibility of her younger sister and her spying habits.

Finishing searching in the dining room, she moved into the hallway. Hearing Gabrielle's voice, she paused halfway in opening the door to the large oak cupboard. Through the door she could hear Gabrielle tell one of the stories of the pranks she would play on anyone Fleur would bring home. Catching only the end, however, Fleur couldn't be sure which story it was. After awhile, they had all blended together to her. With no one else to tell those stories to, it had to be Hermione. But why was Gabrielle telling her these stories? To seem threatening? No. In the way that she was telling the story, it sounded like was trying to bond with Hermione.

"I've pulled pranks on Philippe as well," Gabrielle ended the story. "There was this one time when I-…"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "You do this to anyone who shows any interest in Fleur?"

"Well, not the same thing over and over exactly. There was this one time when I-…"

"But people who show interest in Fleur." Hermione interrupted.

"Yes. That's what I've been telling you." Gabrielle sounded exasperated. "Fleur told me you were smart."

"Then why haven't you done anything to me yet?" Hermione sounded almost a little confused and rather hesitant.

"You're different." Gabrielle's response was in the tone of obviously.

"Because I'm short?" Fleur could hear the joking tone in Hermione's voice and smiled softly to herself. She did not mean to spy on them but she could not seem to be able to interrupt or walk away.

"No, because you're not like the others. You actually care for her. You don't follow her around dumbly because she's a veela. It's so disgusting. They don't even know her and they just…. So I treat them with as much respect as they deserve. But you don't treat her like that. And, for whatever reason, she cares for you."

"Is that what you've figured out from spying on us?"

"I would not necessarily call it spying exactly." Though Fleur could not see their faces, she could easily imagine Gabrielle's evasive expression.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Testing or checking, perhaps. Or maybe examining. I am not quite sure the word in English."

"What are you testing for that requires you to ignore our privacy?"

"I am making sure you treat Fleur well and that you deserve her."

Fleur inwardly groaned as she heard her sister speak. Gabrielle, Philippe, her parents, even. Why this constant verification of Hermione's merits as her lover? But even as Fleur asked, she knew the answer. They had not yet performed the ritual; it made her family uncomfortable, uneasy. They were curious about her hesitation.

"Why can't you trust your sister's judgment? It seems a bit double standard to be angered by people disrespecting her when you are doing the same thing when it comes to her privacy."

"I'm protecting her!" Gabrielle stomped her foot. (Oh, Gabrielle…) "It's different for us. Our family, we're veelas. We don't love like you." There was seriousness, a severity in Gabrielle's voice that was not usually present. And her normal playful, teasing tones were gone. "So I have to make sure."

"Gabrielle, I… I care for you sister very much and I have no intention of hurting her."

"You won't even tell your parents about your relationship! And you keep getting these owls from another girl!" Gabrielle pressed her.

"My not having told my parents doesn't affect the way I feel for your sister. As for Lavender, she is a friend only. I don't know why I even have to defend myself to you." Fleur could hear her lover becoming upset. "It's complicated, Gabrielle. Relationships aren't this easy thing that you can just do with your eyes closed and hope for the best. It's hard and difficult."

"And it is hard and difficult for Fleur! More so, even. You heard her in there just as well as I." Fleur froze. Had they overheard her and Philippe? Dear Merlin, how much? "She has given up so much for you and she is powerless until-"

"I do not consider myself powerless, Gabrielle, nor do I consider Hermione someone I require defending against," Fleur spoke as she finally found the courage to enter the room. Fleur's eyes surveyed the room, finding her sister and lover standing several feet apart and looking very intensely at each other. Upon hearing her, they turned to her direction with a hint of surprise in their eyes. They had thought their conversation was private, an apparently silly assumption in the Delacour household. (And Fleur tried to keep herself from shaking, afraid that they had overheard her conversation with Philippe. All the more fool her for thinking it was private.)

"Fleur!" Hermione whipped around, surprised at her girlfriend's sudden entrance.

Fleur slipped her hand into Hermione's. "As a matter of fact, I find that while one does inherently lose some semblance of power when in love, there is another kind of power to be found. Especially when the person returns your feelings. And I think, if anything, the courtship ritual encapsulates that phenomenon. Now, you both are the two of the most important people in my life. I understand that you are both short," she sent a playful look to Gabrielle, "but please try to accept each other's roles in my life."

* * *

 

Christmas Eve at the Delacour's was always a quiet affair. As was tradition, they had ordered food out so that the kitchen could be solely occupied with the Christmas party preparations. They sat around the fireplace for a while talking, but only for a short while. Besides Gabrielle, who seemed (unsurprisingly) more energetic as time wore on, everyone was exhausted from the preparations. But Gabrielle, too, began to crash around eleven when they all headed off to bed. As normal, Hermione headed off to her separate room. Gabrielle called her a prude (to which Hermione smiled knowingly and shrugged) before wishing her a happy Christmas. In less than ten minutes, Hermione was curled up in Fleur's bed.

"Still having trouble sleeping, I see," Fleur teased, kissing her on the forehead.

"I could always go sleep in my bed," Hermione crossed her arms around her chest huffily.

In response, Fleur wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione. "Not an option, I am afraid."

Hermione feigned at struggling for a second before settling more comfortably in Fleur's arms. "I'm fine with that." She looked up at Fleur and kissed her on the cheek. "What a day, huh?"

Fleur rolled her eyes. "It was rather on the intense side, I suppose."

"I…" Hermione bit her lip and looked down meekly (guiltily). "You know how I take really quick showers? Well, I… I walked downstairs afterwards looking for you. I found Gabrielle. And you and Philippe, hugging."

Fleur could feel her heart almost stop as she turned to look at her lover. "Hermione?"

"And, well, Gabrielle sort of, well… we overheard most of your conversation with Philippe. Or rather, all of it really. I'm sorry, I just…"

Fleur exhaled and was silent for a second. She had overheard it, all of it. Fleur tried to think of this as a good thing; Hermione would have nothing to worry about. Except, of course, the fact that Fleur was completely and intensely in love with her… But on some level, didn't Hermione know that already?

"I cannot really get mad at you. I listened in on part of your conversation with Gabrielle earlier. Only the end, however, before I walked in. Shall we call it a truce? Despite having three floors, my house can be a bit… small." Fleur shrugged. "Though, maybe we should not make a habit of eavesdropping, hm? And I am speaking for both of us, and Gabrielle too for that matter."

Hermione nodded. "I think that is something that we can do."

"Good," Fleur smiled and kissed her softly on the mouth, as if sealing the deal. When she pulled away, her facial expression was of a more serious tone however. "There are some issues that I need to speak to you about. The courtship ritual, for one." (And the fact that you overheard me declare, defend my love for you.)

Hermione kissed her softly on the lips. "There is a lot that you still need to tell me. But not tonight. It's Christmas Eve, there has been too much talking already today and I'm tired."

Fleur nodded, feeling a mixture of nervousness and relief, and trying to keep them from showing too strongly on her face. She was completely grateful, thankful really, for Hermione's response.

"Shall I turn the lights off?" Fleur reached for the light but Hermione touched her arm, lightly, but in a way that made Fleur poised in the mid-air for a moment before returning it to Hermione's waist.

"I didn't say that. Just because I don't want to have a serious discussion doesn't mean I want to go to sleep now."

"Oh?" Fleur arched her eyebrow up playfully, picking up on the undercurrent in her lover's voice. "A game of cards perhaps? Or a board game? And I do need to repaint my nails, they are chipping a bit…" Fleur held her hand up, examining them. And it was true. The nail polish was beginning to chip and that was not all right, especially not with her family coming tomorrow. However, whatever else she was about to suggest was cut off by Hermione's suggestion, which the girl whispered across Fleur's lips before insisting upon it with her tongue. Fleur did not argue, she only pulled Hermione closer.


	19. Exchange

Fleur woke up to a strange (but familiar) sensation on her neck, a slight weight on her shoulder. The sensation, the warmth of Hermione's hand resting on (gently holding) her shoulder as the girl ever so lightly kissed a soft trail up Fleur's neck. There was something in her tenderness that seemed like Hermione was not trying to wake Fleur. Hermione's soft and familiar lips slowly, lingering and safely exploring, traveled farther up her neck. Fleur made no movement, trying not to betray the fact that she was in fact awake. But when Hermione's lips first migrated from kissing her on the eyelids towards finally her mouth, Fleur could not resist kissing back. It was as natural as breathing.

There was a moment of surprise, of pause. Groggy in the morning, Fleur wordlessly convinced Hermione that morning breath be damned. And when they pulled apart, Fleur grinned widely, sleepily.

"Good morning." She stretched, barely able to hold back a yawn before curling up into Hermione's warm body.

"I didn't mean to wake you, sorry," Hermione was still blushing slightly, as if almost embarrassed by being caught kissing her sleeping girlfriend. Fleur just found it to be incredibly sweet. (Forward.)

"Hermione, that was the sweetest thing that I have ever woken up to. I will be quite hurt if you feel like you need to apologize for it," she looked playfully stern, before her smile returned to her face. "Joyeux Noel, Hermione." And she pecked her quickly on the lips.

"Happy Christmas," Hermione smiled softly before raising herself up so that she was hovering slightly above Fleur. Balancing her weight on one arm, the brunette pushed the fallen hair away from her face. Fleur reached up and cupped Hermione's face.

"So beautiful," Fleur whisper out of sheer amazement. Pausing only briefly, she closed the distance between her and her lover's lips.

"Joyeux Noel!" The door burst open to reveal a small, blond form still in her pajamas. The two lovers split apart immediately. Gabrielle leaned up against the doorframe, refusing to miss a beat. "I guess you're not so much of a prude after all, Hermione. Mother will be overjoyed to hear this, I'm sure, though I probably could have died happier if I hadn't just witnessed how gross you two are."

"Gabu if you had merely knocked…" Fleur responded, not allowing her eleven-year-old sister to fluster her. (At least outwardly.)

"Knocking is boring," Gabrielle crossed her arms and shrugged as if what she was saying was painfully obvious.

"Then you will have to accept the consequences of living on the wild side, hm?"

"Elzy is making breakfast and Mother is frazzled because people are going to start arriving in a few hours. Father is memorizing the cousins frantically as always. And Philippe is bringing yet another girlfriend, so the whole family is scandalized. Again. As if it's any surprise. Now Mother is also worried about _that_ and how it's going to affect the party. Though I honestly don't know how it will be all that different from all the other years," Gabrielle informed the couple in an almost tired voice. "I  _was_ going to see if I could hide up here until breakfast, but…" She arched her eyebrow up, putting emphasis on the words was and but. "I get a feeling that you two might be gross again."

"Gabrielle!" Apolline's voice called from the bottom of the stairs in French. "Where are you? You promised you would aid with breakfast."

"I didn't promise. She told me I was. I didn't even nod in agreement. There was no agreement concerning me and breakfast, except that I'd be eating it. If it wasn't gross." Gabrielle explained to the two girls, showing no interest in going downstairs.

"And I told you not to bother Fleur and Hermione." Apolline continued to yell in exasperation after receiving no response from her youngest. Fleur feared Apolline would some come upstairs to her room, and she'd rather not have the whole family gathered around her and her girlfriend in bed. That was not a family bonding moment she was looking for with Hermione.

Gabrielle attempted to look casually innocent. "She may have said that one or a few times. Anyway, I can tell you are old and boring, ma soeur. You obviously haven't even touched your presents."

In fact the two women had not even noticed the presents at the foot of the bed. Maybe they were getting older.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "We woke up five minutes ago, Gabu. There was no time with you busting in to even consider presents."

"You had time to kiss your girlfriend," Gabrielle added offhandedly.

"Priorities, one supposes," Fleur nodded thoughtfully, the blush on Hermione's face not lost on her. As she spoke, though, Fleur sat up fully in bed and reached to the foot of the bed. As they watched her, Fleur began sorting through the presents, handing a significant portion back to Hermione.

"Happy now?" Fleur smiled turning to her little sister.

"Gabrielle!" Apolline's voice, which seemed to steadily grow in annoyance, called again from the base of the stairs.

"You have to open them now," Gabrielle looked nearly exasperated as she pleaded. She sat at the side of the bed and almost seemed to cling to the duvet. "Before she finds me and makes me burn something."

Fleur looked at Hermione who shrugged. "After you," Fleur nodded.

Hermione took her present and began slowly, if not almost shyly, to open it. It was a present from her parents and Fleur could tell before it was opened that it was a book. This was almost disappointing to Fleur, who was secretly very interested in what muggle gave as presents. The book was a novel by a muggle author and it was one that Hermione seemed very excited in having. Fleur, however, had no idea who Virginia Woolf was but at least her name sounded exciting.

Even as a child, Fleur was not the type to rip open presents, shredding the paper in a rush and flurry to discover what lay beneath. She opened presents slowly, lingering in the anticipation and wonder. Savoring the wonder, the excitement, the feel of the paper tearing beneath her fingers.

And so the two took turns opening presents from their family with Gabrielle watching expectantly, as if simply excited by watching. It was no more than a few minutes longer before Gabrielle finally and reluctantly gave into Apolline's insistent shouting and went downstairs making no apologies about what she might burn. And the two were left to their privacy.

Fleur had finished opening her presents—mostly perfumes and jewelry—and Hermione, who received mostly books, paused right before her last present. Her eyes seemed strangely locked on a small package that was quite apparent to be another book. It was almost a confused look as if not quite knowing what to do with it.

"Fleur, your parents got me a present. But I didn't…" She looked embarrassed. "I should have thought. I'm so incredibly rude."

Fleur smiled. "It was very last minute, your coming here. I am sure that they are not expecting anything in return. In fact, I am sure they will say that your presence is enough."

"But I should have…."

Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione and kissed her on the forehead. "It is fine, I really doubt that this is something to worry about."

Hermione opened it to find a book detailing the French Resistance to Lord Voldemort.

"The present was my Papa's idea, I am afraid." Fleur could not help smile and shake her head at the same time.

"No, I love it." And Hermione did seem happy about it, looking at it for a moment and flipping through the pages. She had that look of genuine interest. "Does it have any mention of your family in it?"

"Its his favorite book to give out as a present, especially to non-Delacours. He gives it to co-workers, his parents, his siblings, and anyone who enters the family or is close with us really. But I have no idea if we are actually mentioned directly in it. I assume that it at least mentions my Mother, partly because he is quite obsessed with it and partly from her reaction to it, but honestly I do not know for sure. Do not tell him, but I have yet to read it myself." Fleur looked a little ashamed. She had her own copy at Hogwarts and for some reason she could never quite find the time or desire to read it. And her father seemed to quote directly from it so often that it almost seemed unnecessary to read it at this point. But she really should read it. She knew that.

"Wait, non-Delacours?" Hermione's eyes, for the first time since opening the present, strayed from the book. "What do you mean? Isn't your father…?"

"Delacour is my family's clan name that was passed down from my grandmother Adele." Fleur explained, surprised she had not mentioned it earlier. But then again, to her it was so obvious. "Traditionally in veela-culture, the man takes the woman's surname, so when my father married my mother, he naturally took her name. If he is in this book, it is probably under the name Tristan Bazaine. As there are increasingly more half-breeds, I do not know if that tendency still remains. I believe it depends more on the couple at this point."

"Oh," Hermione nodded, taking the information in. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, but trying to sound casual. "So, if we ever got married, I'd be Hermione Delacour?"

"If you wanted, yes."

"Fleur Granger doesn't quite suit you," Hermione laughed a little at the thought and Fleur joined in. "It makes you seem less… well, less like you."

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour Granger." She spoke the name, sensitive to each syllable and sound of the proposed name as she tried not to make too much of their conversation, "No, I suppose it does not. But perhaps Fleur Isabelle Granger Delacour instead. Though I believe we have some time to figure that one out." She shrugged, before opening a drawer in her nightstand and fishing something out. When she turned back to face Hermione, she had a small present—most obviously not a book—in her hand. "You have one last present to open I am afraid."

"Oh. I still have yours in my room. Let me get it and then we can open them together?" Hermione stood up without waiting for a response and dashed off to her room.

Fleur could hear Hermione's feet run down the hall. She smiled as she heard Hermione run back and then pause outside the door, probably to catch her breath. When she finally opened the door, it was a victorious return with a small, thin present wrapped in shiny white paper and tied in a silver bow. Hermione slid back into bed, into Fleur's arms and exhaled nervously. Shyly.

And they exchanged presents.

"Careful when you open it, it's a bit… delicate," Hermione's words were laced with anxiety, as if suddenly embarrassed by her present, by a present that needed a forewarning. As if delicate was a bad thing.

Fleur's fingers lingered on the small, thin, nearly weightless package. It crinkled slightly underneath the gentle pressure of her fingertips. If she had opened her presents slowly before, this was near excruciating. And her heart was racing, wondering. Her careful ministrations revealed what seemed to be a folded piece of normal parchment. She unfolded it, slightly confused, to reveal that a fairly normal appearing blank piece of parchment.

"It's charmed with the Protean Charm, among others. I have a matching piece. So whatever either of us writes on it, the other will be able to read. If you tap it with your wand and say the right word, the message reveals itself and when you do it again, it disappears. This way we can, you know…" Hermione explained and the more she spoke, the brighter the blush appeared on her face. "It's really… I know. But I thought this could help us communicate because sometimes it's hard to, you know, because I can't always borrow Harry's owl and because we're…"

Fleur smiled widely. "I know." And then she leaned in and kissed Hermione deeply, lovingly. Not knowing what to say and how to thank the girl for such a thoughtful, sweet gift, Fleur searched her lover's lips for words and sentences. And when they pulled away, Fleur was still smiling. "Thank you so much. You are ever so impressive, and sweet, and thoughtful." She shook her head as if in quiet disbelief of her lover. She knew roughly the charms that would go into manufacturing such a gift, and most were quite advanced. "I am lacking in the right words right now I think, but…" But all she could was smile. "Thank you."

"Here, let me show you how it works," Hermione blushed. She showed Fleur the words to both reveal and obscure the message written. And as she did so, Fleur was impressed by the thought that went into this. How did Hermione figure out how to make such a charmed object? These two pieces of seemingly normal parchment would undoubtedly come in handy in their less than orthodox relationship while at Hogwarts.

"Hermione, how did you make this?"

"Well, as I said, the Protean Charm and-…"

"No, I mean, the idea. Where did it come from?"

"Well, Harry has a… similar charmed piece of parchment that has a map of Hogwarts on it. A few years ago, I figured out how it was made because I thought it would come in handy some day. And then it seemed simple enough to add a Protean Charm to it so that it could be used more as a communication device… why are you smiling at me like that?"

And Fleur was smiling, she was proud, impressed, touched, and so many other emotions. "You are such an astounding witch, Hermione."

"It really was not that difficult…"

"And that is why you are so impressive," Fleur kissed her again, softly on the lips, and pulled away. "And now your present."

If Fleur thought she was nervous when opening Hermione's, she was incredibly wrong. This was what it was like to be nervous. Her heart was beating loudly in her throat, her eyes, and in her chest and she had no idea how her heart could beat in so many places at once. She wished it would stay in her chest and beat less loudly. Maybe her gift was too much. Unlike her, fortunately, Hermione was much more efficient with present opening. And then Hermione quietly stared into her hand for a moment not saying anything at the small gift resting there. It was too much. Fleur knew it.

"I…" Fleur opened her mouth (to what, apologize?) but could not get a sentence out.

"I love this Fleur. It's so beautiful," Hermione filled in the silence, looking up at her from the necklace that rested in her hand. It was a simple necklace: a silver chain with a small stone that seemed to capture and reflect the light in an interesting, almost indescribable way. The light almost seemed to swirl within. It was a traditional necklace passed down through the families to be given to their mates around the time of the sealing. Maybe it was too early to give it to her, but it was Christmas and it would make the Christmas party easier for Hermione.

"It's a family heirloom," Fleur explained softly. "My grandmother gave it to me," (to give to you) "and it was given to her by her mother, my great grandmother, and she received it from her mate before the courtship ritual." After a pause, she bit her lip. "It changes color." (Real smooth.)

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Fleur cut her off. "No, I wanted you to have it. I knew it would look beautiful on you," Fleur smiled shyly. "Besides, it was not given to me for me to wear it. It was passed down to me to give for someone else to wear. That person could only ever be you."

"Oh." Hermione looked down at it, perhaps not quite sure what Fleur meant, or perhaps knowing it too much and figuring out how to process that information. "Thank you so much. It is so beautiful."

"You're welcome," Fleur looked down. It was too soon. Too soon.

"It changes color? How?"

"Magic, I suppose," Fleur shrugged. It was too soon. It was too much to explain the significance behind the necklace. At the moment, it was enough that she had it. Anymore than that… Hermione was not ready. She couldn't say any clearer in that moment that this necklace could only be given to one's true mate, let alone all the magical properties. Fleur, herself, did not know them all. They were, in part, to be discovered by the couple. But she did know that it changed color depending on her health and her emotions at least until the ritual. For now, it would be a magical family heirloom and it would help her at the party.

"You're being impossible again. What does the color change correlate to?"

"Only you would use the word correlate when discussing an enchanted Christmas present," Fleur arched an eyebrow teasingly.

"And that's why you-…" Hermione stopped herself for a moment, as if about to say something she decided she shouldn't. Fleur had her guesses. "What does it correlate to?"

"And ruin the mystery? No, I am afraid that this will just have to be a puzzle for you to solve. It only works if the recipient figures out its properties."

"Once again, you are being impossible."

"Impossibly kissable," Fleur corrected, as she leaned in and changed the conversation, at least, in a sense. "Besides, why should I ruin the fun?"

It was some time before the two made it down for breakfast.

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet affair of pain au chocolat, tea and coffee. Apolline spent most of the meal subtly eyeing Hermione's new necklace, which she had put on before coming downstairs. When she had first come down, Apolline had stopped mid-scold (Gabrielle had indeed burnt something) and Tristan nearly dropped his coffee cup. Gabrielle merely arched up her eyebrow, smiled and complimented the necklace. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and for the most part pretended not to notice as she sat down with her coffee.

Shortly after the breakfast dishes were cleaned, the guests began to arrive. At first in a trickle and then, with time, in droves.


	20. The Necklace

By noon, most of the guests had arrived. The house, generally open and spacious, was crowded, brimming with relatives. Fleur leaned up against the wall, watching the members of her family move from room to room. She took a small sip of the glass of wine in her hand and smiled, trying not to look as antisocial as she was actually feeling. The party, like every year, had a tendency to become overwhelming and exhausting. The past three years especially. It was not just the large mass of friends and family, but the constant switching between languages as well. In the past hour, she had held conversations in English, French, and Veela while overhearing other conversations in German, Italian, Bulgarian, and Spanish, as well as several other foreign dialects of Veela. Among others, some she couldn't recognize or discern clearly.

Her eyes quietly scanned the room with purpose, wondering where Hermione was. She had excused herself to get some air while Fleur was trapped mid-conversation with her aunt Aurelie. That conversation had since ended, and several others had taken place with other family members. And still Hermione had not returned. Fleur was trying not to become worried—what if Hermione had been cornered by one of her more unpleasant relatives? Or worse, someone who was overly friendly and far too open about the courtship ritual without even realizing it…

Perhaps she should go look for Hermione. In all truth, she was probably just hiding out in the study with her father. Perhaps they were having a good conversation about books. Fleur wanted to have a good conversation about books. She pushed herself off from the wall with the intention to hopefully join that conversation.

"I will not have any of my grandchildren looking worried at a party. Not only is it unbecoming, but it could mar their inherited good looks. As the matriarch of this gene pool, I absolutely cannot allow that."

Fleur, who had taken a few steps away from the wall, stopped and turned around with a warm smile on her face to greet her grandmother Adele. The two greeted each other with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Grandmother, you look absolutely lovely today." Fleur secretly wished that, in time, she would age half as well as her grandmother. The wrinkles and white hair only seemed to make Adele more majestic and wise.

"You flatter an old hag," Adele grinned, as she ran a hand through her own hair. "Thank you, my love. I fear I am just not willing to be handsome and wise when I used be young and beautiful. Unfortunately, I was never obliged the choice and thus here I am." As Adele spoke, her eyes fluttered around Fleur, as if looking for something. Or someone. "Speaking of young and beautiful, I heard that she is finally here, your small, English brunette. At least, that is how Gabrielle describes her. And yet I see her nowhere. Are you hiding her somewhere? That is simply unacceptable. A grandmother has needs."

"She is here, Grandmother, do not worry. She simply excused herself for a moment. The party was overwhelming."

"So she is like Tristan?" Adele had a knowing smile. "I had thought that you might be drawn to such a person."

"There are similarities, yes, Grandmother. But I am sure one could find similarities between her and Gabu as well, or her and any number of people." (Philippe, for example.) "Similarities are all relative and a matter of perspective."

Adele just shrugged, both at the folly of youth and at Fleur herself. "That is a fairly evasive answer about the person you are sealed to."

(Not quite yet…) "Is it not a good thing that I refuse to have her whittled down to a specific type? I see her complexities and subtleties instead of the blunt generalizations and clumsy stereotypes people would use when speaking of her?"

"I am merely asking about the woman you are sealed too, my love. You are being defensive and evasive. It does not help a grandmother's state of mind."

Fleur exhaled. "I apologize. I just am beginning to feel that the family is not understanding our decision to take things slowly. Things with us are…" Fleur searched for the word and finally settled on, "complicated. She is still rather young. And currently my student."

Adele arched up a white eyebrow. "Complicated? Why must things always be so complicated with you young people? It is or it is not. You are sealed, so it must be so." The old woman sighed as Fleur crossed her arms and leaned back up against the wall defensively. "We are just worried because she has been on the family tree for a month and yet… no signs of further progression. Holding patterns can only last so long. Is it so much that we are worried? I was unfortunate enough to lose one of my five children to the courtship, and I fear for both you and Philippe. I fear these modern times do not bode well for our kind."

"Technically, Philippe is not truly …" Fleur tried to evade the subject.

"He is a concern to Agnes, he was a concern to Anuk, and he is a concern to me. Honestly I would be losing hope if it were not for Vessela. Your aunt Oran is so relieved now that Vessela and Sol have performed the ritual. Though it took them years to find each other. A pair of late bloomers, both of them."

"My cousin and I are in different situations entirely." All party she had heard mention of her cousin Vessela and her mate Sol. After two months they had completed the ritual and didn't they look so happy? Her family, even subtly, seemed to insist on asking why she didn't want that. But she did want it. So much it hurt. They, with veela blood, must know how much she longed for it with every fiber of her being. And perhaps that was why they were confused. With all that wanting, why did she not have it? (Yet. Why did she not have that  _yet_.)

She saw how her family treated Sol… so warm, so open, so loving. Though it was the first time they had met him, he was already a loved and cherished member of the family. And Hermione? And Hermione was treated with warmth mixed with suspicion and concern. They would stare at Hermione's necklace and then look up at her and smile. Politely. While they laughed with Sol. They did not dislike Hermione, but they could not trust her yet. She was an unknown quality—still a threat in some ways. More ways now that Fleur was at least seemingly sealed to her. Didn't her family see that their behavior could make things more difficult? Couldn't they understand that Sol was half Veela and Hermione was not, and that made all the difference? He grew up understanding, he grew up knowing. He was looking for his mate just as much as Vessela was.

And Hermione? What is she looking for in her last year of school? It hadn't been a girlfriend, let alone a mate for life. This was all so new for Hermione. It had to be explained. It had to be taken slowly. A decision, on her part, still had to be made. And Fleur wanted to respect that.

"Now, now, jealousy does not belong within this family," Adele shook her head. "Vessela was lucky. It is always easier to find another of our kind. At least Hermione is a witch. Did I ever tell you about my friend Justine who fell in love a Muggle?"

"Countless times Grandmother, countless times." Fleur tried to hold in a groan of boredom, a groan of annoyance. It would be pointless if she let it out; Adele was going to tell the story anyway.

"Miserable luck. She had to go to the Ministry to get all this paperwork completed so that she could even approach the man and talk to him, let alone all the hoops she went through to tell him the truth about herself. Imagine it, on both sides." Adele shook her head and then looked up with an optimistic smile. "So, really, things are not that bad for you, hm?"

"Things are not bad, Grandmother. They are just…" Fleur exhaled, trying to find her center and remain calm. "Slow. They are just progressing slowly. And that is fine."

"Keep telling yourself that." Adele arched her eyebrow in a manner that made Fleur a bit uneasy. "Progressing slowly, but here we are just the same. And here she is."

And there Hermione was, having finally returned with a confused and perplexed expression. Fleur felt her breath hitch—how much had she overheard?

"And you must be Hermione?" It was only when Adele opened her mouth and spoke did Fleur realize that she and her Grandmother had been speaking in Veela. Not that this was a surprise. They always spoke in Veela. One would often naturally slip into the language when speaking with another Veela-blooded individual.

So of course Hermione was confused. And how could she not be? Fleur and her family had been very conscious of speaking English as much as possible when she was around, barely switching into French let alone Veela. Besides, it was a language that, at least in her household, was reserved primarily for the women. While Tristan, like all non-veela mates, understood the language, he could not speak it well. But with Adele, Fleur could barely recall ever speaking another language with her besides Veela. And it was clear by her Grandmother's heavily accented English that it was not a language she spoke often.

Fleur smiled and slipped her hand into Hermione's. "Miraculous timing. Grandmother, may I introduce you to my girlfriend, Hermione Granger. And Hermione, may I introduce you to my grandmother Adele?"

Hermione held out a hand. "It is wonderful to finally meet the matriarch of the family."

Adele ignored the offered hand and she moved in for a hug. Caught momentarily off guard, Hermione was slow to respond and had barely begun to return the gesture when Adele pulled away and kissed her briskly on the cheek. "And it is a pleasure to finally meet you as well my dear," Adele's eyes kept returning to the necklace around Hermione's neck, a soft, warm smile encroaching on her features. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to the family… party." There was only the slightest of pauses between family and party, but it was noticeable nonetheless.

Hermione smiled, shifting a bit uncomfortably, before settling in a position closer up against Fleur. "Thank you. You have a wonderful family."

"And you have a wonderful necklace. It warms my heart to see you wearing it. It looks absolutely beautiful on you. It fits you, yes?" Adele smiled, her eyes flickering back and forth between Hermione and Fleur, between Hermione and the necklace.

"Oh. Thank you," Hermione picked up the necklace and looked at it thoughtfully. "It used to be yours, I believe? I am afraid I do not know much about it. Fleur only gave it to me this morning and of course she's been very evasive with answers."

Adele gave a knowing smile before responding. "Years ago, it was mine to keep, yes, but it was never really mine to wear, no. It is a very special necklace and within it very patient and powerful magic."

Hermione held the charm of the necklace between her two fingers. "And what does it do?"

"Tell the truth, perhaps." Adele pondered casually, evasively. "It is hard to say. I never really figured it out. It is old magic and as it was never mine, it was never mine to understand, hm? So I am sure you will have better luck than I. I have heard that you are quite intelligent." Adele looked around the room before returning her gaze compassionately to Hermione. "The family, I am sure, is a bit overwhelming," Adele smiled politely changing the subject.

"I…" Hermione hesitated and then nodded, seeming to decide to go along with the change (for now). "You have a very large family."

"At least you are not off hiding like Tristan," Adele shook her head, a loving exhaustion in her words. "That man, he is a dear but I wish he would not dash off to his study so much. Intellectuals, why are they so often scared from large social gatherings? It has become a family joke, in a sense, I am afraid. Even when he is still standing next to Apolline, people ask where he is. I am not sure how he can handle it," the old woman exhaled. "With grace, as always. That man, as I said, is a dear."

"He is very sweet," Hermione agreed. "And I'm sure he'll be returning to the party soon. Or at least that's what he said."

So Fleur was right, she had been with her father. She wondered what they had talked about.

Adele examined Hermione closely for a minute. "Are you an intellectual?" Though she paused slightly, she did not wait for a response. "Yes, but also, no, I think. There is definitely something else in your eyes besides that. A passion, a hunger perhaps for adventure. Anyway, at least now hopefully my son-in-law will have some company during large family gatherings," Adele smiled, in full command of the conversation and knowing it. "Speaking of company, have you meet Vessela and Sol, Hermione?" Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Adele, once again, did not allow for interruptions. "No, I imagine not as Fleur just said she herself has not met Sol yet."

Fleur opened her mouth as if to protest—she had said no such thing but she was beginning to suspect where her grandmother was headed.

"Who are Vessela and Sol?"

"Vessela is my cousin and Sol is her mate." Fleur answered quickly, afraid of how her grandmother might answer the question.

"This is the first time he has attended a family gathering as well. They are quite a fresh couple, similar to you and Fleur I imagine." The old woman paused for a moment before stating rather matter of factly, her eyes once again returning to Hermione's necklace. "On some levels, at least."

"On some levels?" Hermione arched her eyebrow, as if not sure to be offended or not, her hand defensively returning to her necklace.

Fleur, however, was not so ambivalent about the appropriate response as she shot her grandmother a scathing look. This was an entirely inappropriate conversation. "You imagine?"

Adele feigned innocence. "Well, one cannot assume that all young couples are similar. I mean, there are worlds of differences between you two and Vessela and her mate Sol, and for that matter Philippe and whoever he is currently running around this minute."

"I imagine," Fleur added as casually as possible. "So are we the gray area in between?"

"Well in between is a word that did not immediately come to mind… Nor gray. What a dreadful color, gray, can't really decide where it stands, now can it?"

"Grandmother, I much prefer you when you are actually charming instead of trying to not so subtly make a point." Fleur crossed her arms.

"Well, I did not know if I could come out and say it," Adele huffed, resorting back to Veela.

"You cannot. It is entirely inappropriate conversation to have at this point in time in our relationship." Fleur responded, also in Veela.

"It wasn't for Sol and Vessela." Adele continued to pout, though showing signs of admitting temporary defeat.

"Yes, and as you pointed out, there are differences. A difference Grandmother. He is part Veela, she is not. You will just have to accept the fact that it is perfectly acceptable—and in fact a necessity—that we move slowly because of that."

"Your father and mother—"

"There was a war on."

"I just want you to be happy," Adele pouted, realizing she would not, at least for the moment, win.

"And I am, Grandmother. I am."

"You do not look happy. You look weak and sick. Being in a holding pattern is not a healthy long-term option Fleur. You know that."

"Neither is rushing her and ruining everything. It is a delicate situation right now."

"You keep saying that," Adele frowned.

Hermione just stood silently, watching, perplexed as to what to do, overcome by curiosity over what was being said in the somewhat heated conversation in another language. In the end she stood there awkwardly, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for the two to start speaking in English again. Luckily, she did not have to wait until long. Apolline walked over and inserted herself into the conversation.

"Mother, you will never believe what Camille told me about Gabrielle," Apolline approached them, exasperated and speaking in English, clearly for the benefit of Hermione.

"Considering it is Gabrielle, I have no idea," Adele smiled, amusement already coming to her features. "Tell me what my grandchild accomplished this semester."

"You take pleasure in this, I cannot believe you Mother."

"After raising you, I think I would have to. And one must find amusement that after so many years you are finally having to raise a daughter that is exactly like you."

"I was not nearly so—"

"No, if anything you were worse." Adele smiled lovingly.

Apolline groaned. "And I suppose you are the one telling her all the stories of what I did at Beauxbatons?"

Adele once again feigned her patent innocent expression. "I am not sure what you mean. However I do like to keep the younger generation informed of their history. That is what my generation does now, I believe, hm?"

"Mother, ideas for causing trouble come to her easily enough without your help, trust me."

"I am quite sure that they do. She is quite a bright girl, my grandchild." Adele beamed proudly. "Now I believe you were going to tell me what brilliance she has been up to."

"You never called it brilliant when I did it," Apolline rolled her eyes, a bit sulkily.

"You were my daughter and exasperated me. And now, as a grandmother, I can sit back and enjoy the brilliance for what it is and enjoy your turn at exasperation. And fate willing, you will do the same with Gabrielle and her child."

Fleur, who had been watching the exchange with amusement for a moment, looked at Hermione and decided that this was their opportunity to escape. Taking her lover's hand, they politely excused themselves.

Their escape was fleeting, however, when the two lovers bumped into Vessela and Sol. Introductions were made, and small talk quickly gave way to more subtle and not-so subtle hinting about the courtship ritual. Fleur could not help but notice how the newly mated couple was positively glowing. She could not deny that she wanted what they had—the bond, the end of the illness, the stability, the comfort, the love. Everyone always romanticized the beginnings—the nervousness, the excitement, the thrill. But it was also exhausting, confusing. Nerve-wracking. But now was perhaps not the time to move beyond this stage. No matter how hard it was for her family to understand, they simply were not ready. Fleur soon found a polite reason to excuse themselves from the conversation.

Once in the safety of an empty hallway, Fleur leaned up against a wall, closed her eyes and exhaled. Hermione quietly watched as Fleur took a moment to relax and gather herself. When she opened her eyes, there was Hermione standing there calmly underneath an overwhelmed expression.

"You look beautiful," Fleur smiled softly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I feel exhausted and overwhelmed."

"You wear it well." Fleur could not help raking her eyes hungrily over her lover.

"Professor Delacour, are you flirting with me?"

Fleur shrugged, closing the distance in between them. "I aim to do more than that."

Before Hermione had a chance to respond, Fleur leaned in and kissed her lover's lips. (Devoured.) Fleur did her best to restrain at least some of the passion that was suddenly surging to the surface. But she needed to find reassurance. She needed to be reminded of how Hermione cared for her. And she looked for it desperately, hungrily on her lover's lips. Even after discovering it, finding it, tasting it, running it over her tongue, the hunger did not leave her. Would not leave her. Consumed her.

She pressed Hermione up against the wall, deepening the kiss before moving on to roam down her soft and inviting neck. Hermione tipped her head back as much as the wall would allow and let out a moan of pleasure. It was the sound of pure pleasure brought Fleur back into reality. She pulled apart from Hermione—or at least as apart as she could manage.

"This is not the right time," Fleur shook her head sadly. "My family… they could walk through any minute."

"Something makes me think that they wouldn't mind…" Hermione screwed up her face and Fleur furrowed her brow in confusion. "Not like that, no. Not in any perverted sense, just that, well… you know, they seem pretty into us becoming… more serious." Hermione spoke slowly, explaining, as she traced the small of Fleur's back with her finger. "I am going to take it as a sign they like me?"

"Of course they love you. My family, they can just be, I guess you could say, a bit infuriating, no?" Fleur groaned, burrowing her head into the small of Hermione's neck, unable to resist the urge to kiss it softly as she spoke. "I apologize for their behavior. It is entirely inappropriate. I thought the necklace would… " And then Fleur stopped herself. Too much.

"You thought the necklace would, what?" Hermione pulled herself a little away from the embrace so as to look at Fleur. But when Fleur did not respond right away, Hermione pressed on. "Your family keeps staring at it. Your grandmother and mother especially. It's important, this necklace, isn't it?" Her hands migrated to the necklace. And all Fleur could manage was to resist the urge to kiss those fingers. "It's more than a family heirloom, is it? What does it mean?"

"It means that I care for you and trust you." Fleur stated simply.

"And?"

"Simply that. And my family recognizes that necklace and knows what it means."

"Which is why they are confused that we haven't performed the ritual," Hermione filled in the blank.

Fleur paused, her words stuck in her throat. She might have been able to dislodge them in a minute, however Gabrielle chose that moment come barreling through the hallway nearly running into Hermione. Hermione, almost instinctively, retreated closer into Fleur.

"I have been looking for you two for five whole minutes. I should have figured you two snuck off somewhere to be gross," Gabrielle rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "And in my way."

"Next time I'm standing stationary against a wall and not in the actual causeway of normal traffic, I'll try to keep that in mind," Hermione smiled. The two, Fleur had noticed, had seemed to come to an agreement with each other. Fleur was afraid to outwardly observe and jinx it, however it did appear that they might even like each other. Earlier in the party, while helping her Great Aunt Jacqueline, Fleur could have sworn she saw the two of them speaking and laughing with each other.

"Sorry," Gabrielle rolled her eyes, before reaching for Fleur and Hermione's hands and began tugging at them to go in the direction she just came. "Anyway, Mother, along with like everyone else I might add, is about to explode. You have to come witness this. This is the best party ever. Philippe just showed up, and you'll never guess who his new girlfriend is."

Practically being dragged into the next room, Fleur could not quite figure out what could be so exciting about Philippe's new girlfriend. They changed so often that the shock value was, at least in her opinion, starting to wear out. But when they entered the next room, it was strangely silent. Or at least not quite as loud as it had been all day. Somehow her cousin had found a new way to shock the relatives.

It was not hard to find Philippe standing near the doorway and in the center of attention. He seemed to be introducing the curvaceous and athletic-looking brunette beside him to Fleur's Uncle Tomas. The woman was smiling warmly and shaking Tomas' hand, who seemed very ecstatic to meet her. As a matter of fact, the entire room seemed torn between disapproval and excitement. Confused Fleur turned to Hermione and that was when she noticed that her lover's eyes were bugging out.

"Fleur, your cousin is dating Gwenog Jones?"

"Apparently," Fleur replied calmly, if not a little confused as to why this was at all important. "He did mention a Gwen yesterday."

"Obviously. Why else would she be here?" Gabrielle rolled her eyes, exasperated at her sister's lack of excitement.

Hermione looked at Fleur stunned, as if surprised by the calmness of the older blonde's response. Noticing the reactions of the two girls, Fleur exhaled. "I see that I am missing something here. Who is Gwenog Jones?"

"She is the captain of the Holyhead Harpies," Hermione explained.

"The British All Women's Quidditch Team," Gabrielle clarified, not at all hiding her annoyance when Fleur's face showed no signs of recognition. "Seriously, Fleur." Gabrielle had always been an avid Quidditch fan. It was an interest she shared with their father, one that Fleur and her mother never really partook in. Or really understood for that matter.

"Oh," Fleur shrugged, still not impressed. At the moment she was more confused as to why Hermione would be able to recognize a Quidditch player to such a level her eyes would bug out. "Hermione, I thought you did not particularly care for Quidditch and yet you know of her."

"How do you not know her, Fleur?" Gabrielle stared at her sister as if wondering if perhaps they weren't related. "She's one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world. I swear you wouldn't even know who Krum was if he wasn't in the Triwizard Cup."

Once again, the mention of the tournament caused Fleur to momentarily stiffen. However, neither her sister nor her lover seemed to notice. "I suppose that is true…"

"Between Ron, Harry and Ginny, I've been dragged to a lot of British League Quidditch matches and been witness to countless conversations about this team and that. I also met her briefly at Professor Slughorn's party." Hermione shrugged.

"I never really cared for that man," Fleur shrugged.

"You what? You met her? Do you have her autograph?" Gabrielle clung to Hermione's sleeve as if her next questions would be can I see and can I touch it.

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't think of it at the time."

Gabrielle looked like she was the one who was about to explode.

* * *

As the party was winding down, Fleur stepped away briefly to help her Aunt Oran, Vessela's mother, find her missing jacket. When she returned, she found Hermione speaking with Philippe and Gwenog in the nearly empty room. It was odd to discover Hermione actively conversing with Fleur's less-than-lovable cousin. After a moment, Gwenog excused herself and walked off to the punchbowl. Nervous about the sight in front of her, Fleur quickly moved across the floor. As she walked closer, she could not help but overhear their conversation.

"But listen, it does not work like that. Do you know how important you are to her, how special you are?" He shook his head before taking a sip of the wine in his hand. "The Delacours—and veelas in general—are just very… cautious people, one could suppose. That's why they've been less gregarious with you than with, say, Sol. It's just where you stand right now. They are not sure if you will break Fleur's heart." Philippe sighed. "But at least you aren't poor Gwen. To them, Gwen is, well, she is inferior, a taboo, a scandal. She is temporary. But you…" Philippe shook his head. 

"Glad to see you two getting along," Fleur smiled wearily as she slipped her hand around Hermione's waist.

"She was asking me if it was okay if she could get Gwen's autograph," Philippe smiled. "That's what you did come over to ask me about, is it not, before I digressed? Well, go ahead. I am sure she will not mind."

"Okay," Hermione nodded hesitantly before moving out of Fleur's touch to walked over and join Gwenog at the punchbowl. Fleur's eyes followed the brunette, momentarily forgetting her cousin.

"I see you gave her the necklace."

Fleur turned back to face her cousin. "I did, yes."

"Smart move. The family was much more open to her than I think they would have been otherwise."

"I know," Fleur nodded and sighed. "Still, I think I might have rushed it a bit. The looks they were giving her… they could not help staring and wondering. Now they expect it to happen soon, and I honestly doubt that it will."

"You have to talk to her about that, you owe it to her. For heaven's sake, you are sealed to her and she doesn't even know it."

Fleur shook her head. (Not completely, not yet. Why does everyone assume? The necklace.) "I do not need this. Not from you. I have been getting it all day from the family. I had expected at least you would be sympathetic," Fleur rested her head in her hand, frustrated and exhausted.

"You are sealed to her, for Merlin's sake. This isn't some innocent, beginning stage anymore. She needs to know. She should have known more explicitly before it even got to this point," he hissed.

"I do not need lectures from you of all people, Philippe," Fleur repeated herself. "I know I need to talk to her. But she knows more than you give her credit for."

Fleur exhaled, her eyes returning back to Hermione. As Gwenog pulled out a quill and began to give Hermione her autograph, Hermione's eyes wandered back to Fleur. As their eyes met, Hermione smiled at Fleur, ducking her head slightly, before returning her attention to Gwenog.

"She loves you, Fleur, I can see it. Just because she hasn't said it yet does not mean it's not true. Telling her everything is not as hard as you are making it out to be."

"And you are one to speak on this matter?"

"Fleur!"

"Tonight." Fleur sighed, knowing that he was right, "I'm planning on talking to her tonight."


	21. Etiquette

It was tradition for Adele to host Christmas dinner for her five children in the matriarchal home. However after the deaths of Anuk and her husband Marcus, Adele had moved in with her daughter Agnes. This decision seemed only a natural course of events. Agnes was a natural caretaker who loved more than anything a house full of people to take care of. By the time Adele had moved in, Agnes was already caring for Philippe and her uncle Antoine's widow Oran. So now with the addition of Adele three years ago to Agnes' household, the Christmas dinner was now held at her large home. However, there was never a moment's doubt that the dinner was still an Adele-run affair.

The number of people at the dinner fluctuated from year to year, with the addition of mates and grandchildren, and the circumstances of death and life beyond the family. This year was one of the larger dinners that Fleur could remember. Nineteen sat at the table, which had been magically elongated to fit everyone. The table compromised of Fleur, sitting in between Hermione and Gabrielle, her parents, Philippe and Gwen, Agnes and Hughes, Oran, her aunt Aurelie and her mate Maria, Vessela and Sol, and Agnes' children Ovid and Clare with their mates Marguerite and Josef respectively. Adele sat smiling at the head surrounded and looked over her family. It was near impossible to hear the conversation on the other side of the table.

For the most part, conversation was polite, warm, and familial interspersed with affectionate teasing and embarrassing stories. Sol and Hermione, both newcomers to the Delacour clan, were the focal point of most of the dinnertime conversation. When not questioned (prodded, interrogated—politely, of course) about her life, Hermione's eyes examined (politely, of course) the second Delacour home she has been in. There was barely a similarity between the two. Where Fleur's parents preferred a simple and comfortable home, Apolline's sister obviously preferred to nurture her family through luxury. The home spoke quite clearly of a class and comfortable elegance, a desire to not leave loved ones want for anything.

Between second and third course, Gabrielle (not so politely) dragged her father away. She wanted him to show her something and she simply could not wait until the end of the meal. She knew the family would spend talk endlessly drinking wine even after the dessert had been served and eaten. Gabrielle loved her family, but as she was still not fully able to enter into more adult conversations and there was no else her age, she tended to grow bored fast. In the old days, she had Fleur. But now Fleur had Hermione. So Gabrielle fell back on her doting father, who had not quite yet developed the ability to say no to her. And so she dragged Tristan off, looking for some respite from the dull conversation.

A couple of minutes after Gabrielle and Tristan had left, Adele turned to her youngest daughter. "I do not care if she gives you ulcers, Apolline, that granddaughter of mine has spirit. And I like it. Spirit like that is a gift."

"When I was growing up with the same exact spirit, I do not recall you having a similar opinion, Mother," Apolline rolled her eyes, placing down her wine glass. It was clear in her tone that she was not nearly so annoyed as she feigned.

"It took me time to appreciate it. Like fine wine, one supposes. I had not quite developed the taste for it until I had grandchildren," Adele smiled loving. "Besides, you only have one other child. I had four others."

"For the remaining children in the room, I feel like I should take offense," Aurelie interjected. "I feel that such antics are honestly simply attention-seeking tactics. I mean, Polie, you were the youngest."

"Please do not call me Polie. I am no longer five," Apolline groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I did not like it then, nor do I like it now. It is simply… unacceptable and unfitting."

From the corner of her eye, Fleur caught an amused smile on Hermione's face. Hermione was finally seeing her mother as she truly was, charming and not at all as intimidating as she initially makes herself out to appear.

"But it rhymes with Jolie," Aurelie grinned mischievously. "Anyway, you were the youngest and had your fair share of competition for parental attention. And it cannot be easy being the younger sibling of Fleur, no offense Fleur," Fleur raised her hand in a gesture of none taken, "but you cut a hard image to follow. You received top marks all through your years of Beauxbatons, a Triwizard Champion," Fleur stiffened slightly. Hermione, whose hand had been lightly resting on Fleur's knees for the past ten minutes or so, squeezed it comfortingly. "And now still fresh out of school you are already a professor. Not at Beauxbatons, but impressive just the same. One can see why Gabrielle chose not to compete for fear of coming up short and chose an… ulterior route. And a quite successful one, I might add."

"Subtly was never one of Gabu's stronger points," Apolline grinned. "I just wish she'd do better at school."

"Gabrielle's quite intelligent," Fleur added. "She succeeds in whatever she sets out to accomplish."

"Well, she is a Delacour," Adele smiled proudly. "My genes do count for something."

"They count for a lot, Mother, as you are apt to remind us," Aurelie humored Adele.

"I just wish she would set out to succeed in other areas…" Apolline shook her head.

"What? Perhaps something beyond turning poor Professor Seguin's hair blue or … oh, what was it exactly that she did with those fake wands again?" Adele laughed softly to herself. "That girl has spirit. It will do her well, I believe."

* * *

After the meal ended, the family moved into the spacious parlor, settling into seats near the glowing fireplace for coffee and other after dinner drinks. The previous year Fleur had made the mistake of trying grappa, another acquired taste. This year she politely declined, settling instead on a cup of soothing tea.Thoroughly exhausted from the day, Fleur found a couch that was removed enough to give her respite but not far enough away to be rude. There she sat, with her cup of tea, idly playing with a strand of Hermione's hair. Her girlfriend was leaning up against her, seemingly equally exhausted and still quite overwhelmed. The two did not say anything, simply enjoying each other's presence while watching Delacour family interactions. Every once in a while a family member would approach for a while before returning to the larger group. As the evening was beginning to come to an end, Sol and Vessela, hand in hand, approached the two quiet lovers.

"I had been telling Vess all day that you both looked absolutely familiar and I was simply having the hardest time placing you," Sol greeted them congenially. "And then at dinner I realized of course," he snapped, as if to illustrate his epiphany, "how could I have been that stupid? You were the Beauxbatons champion."

Fleur forced a smile (weakly). "I was, yes."

"I am a Durmstrang graduate, a year ahead of you and so I followed the tournament with some interest, cheering the old Alma Mater on, you know, reading about in the papers and such. Almost went to the Final Task, but could not quite get it together," his voice trailed for a moment before he shook his head and began to smile again. "It's been a while, though, since it happened, hasn't it? Which is probably why it took me so long to place your face. I mean I knew we probably hadn't met—how could we have? But you just seemed so  _familiar_. And then at dinner," again, he snapped his fingers. "It was your pictures in the newspapers and the articles about the tournament."

"It's been three years I believe," Fleur tightened her grip on Hermione's hand, looking for support. Any support. Hermione examined Fleur with her eyes, confused by the stiffness of her girlfriend. Fleur tried to smile. Perhaps she even succeeded. "It is easy to see how one could forget. I was thankfully not covered too closely throughout the tournament. Despite our blood, I highly value my privacy."

"And Vess tells me that you teach at Hogwarts now?"

Vessela, who was never much one for small talk, smiled quietly when her name was mentioned.

"Yes, I'm the new Defense Against the Arts professor. On foreign exchange for a year."

"Fell in love with the school while you were there, I see," Sol nodded at Hermione and grinned.

Fleur could not help but feel a bit sorry for this man, who was awkwardly trying so hard to start a conversation. Unfortunately, he had found one that Fleur never wanted to have. "You could say that, I suppose, yes." It seemed like an easier response. However it was no secret that she (had) hated it there in England, preferred France, preferred Beauxbatons. She had been a spoiled teenager not used to change.

"And Hermione, you went to Hogwarts, yes?"

Hermione nodded, her attention still partly on Fleur. "Still attend, actually. I graduate at the end of this term."

"Ah, so you are still not that much younger than Fleur. Is the tournament how you two met?" Sol pressed on with a friendly interest and a curious smile, as if quietly excited by the fact that they were a student-teacher relationship.

"In a way. One my closest friends was one of the Hogwarts champions."

"Which Hogwarts champion, Harry or …?"

"Harry," Hermione answered quickly.

"And you know Viktor as well. He mentioned you, I believe, when I last saw him," Sol smiled. Bulgarians. Fleur tried to control the minor facial tick that she felt forming on her face.

"Viktor and I more or less fell out of touch," Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes moved downward to the necklace. For the first time since receiving it, the necklace looked different. The shape remained the same, of course, but somehow it seemed to be a darker, colder color that appeared to be capturing and reflecting the light a lot less than before. Hermione continued to speak, but her eyes and attention were partly on the necklace. "I'm sorry to say that during the tournament Fleur and I did not know each other very well. Or at all, actually. Come to think of it, I don't really know why."

"I was not the most approachable my first time at Hogwarts," Fleur offered, trying to seem nonchalant. "It was a difficult transition for me, I suppose, England and the stress of the tournament. And my constant droves of lovestruck followers..."

"But that's when it happened, I am assuming, yes?" Sol's eyes were locked on Fleur with deep interest and confusion. "I mean, that's when it had to have had happened? A beautiful moment, isn't it?" Fleur smiled, but hesitated to answer. "And you waited until this year to do something? Can't say I'm not impressed. That's some willpower and patience." (But he did not look impressed, only sad.) "Excuses some of your performance in the tournament, I would think, as well. Must be disappointing and frustrating."

Hermione's eyes locked on Fleur with a curious expression with an intensity (an almost shy, embarrassed confusion) that made her shift uncomfortably. Vessela, who had been holding Sol's hand, less-than subtly pinched Sol in the arm. When he turned to his mate, nursing the minor pain she shot him a pointed look. He seemed to mouth a 'what?' but before anything could proceed further.

"The tournament was not exactly the fairest of competitions to begin with, but nothing ever is," Fleur offered blankly. She continued, smiling weakly, "Patience, one might imagine, is one of my many personality traits. That and shyness." (Hermione was fourteen and with a boy. Hardly the place to start an international long-term lesbian relationship with a quarter-part veela.) "And one must remember that the Delacour clan is known for our strong constitutions."

* * *

It was around midnight when they returned home from Christmas dinner. Exhausted and with Gabrielle barely protesting, the family went almost straight to bed.

At this point, Hermione made no pretense of sleeping in her room. However, she still kept the majority of her belongings in the guest room. By the time Hermione joined Fleur in her room, Fleur was already in bed fighting to stay awake. Such gatherings were exhausting and draining, even with the potion to aid her. Tomorrow would have to be a quiet day where she replenished her energy. Neither her body nor her mother would allow her do anything else.

But tonight there remained one last thing to do. Hermione deserved to know the full, absolute truth. Honestly, she deserved to know it earlier. However, life happened. And their relationship happened. And frankly, she preferred that to explanations. (She still did not know how to say it exactly.)

When Hermione had nestled up against Fleur, Fleur opened her mouth to speak, "Hermione, I-… there are some things that I should tell you."

Hermione, who seemed to be just as exhausted at Fleur, looked up at her lover wondering if it could wait until the morning. "What is it?" Her voice apprehensive.

"It is about me and it is about being veela."

"Fleur, I read the whole book. I've listened to your family. What more do you have to tell me right now?"

"There is a lot the book leaves out."

"Like. . . ?" Hermione sat up, her eyes warily on Fleur. (Not quite warily, perhaps, but expectantly.)

"There are some things that I have not been saying because I did not desire to pressure you. I wanted this, I wanted us to progress naturally. But it is unfair for you not to know these things after we progress past a certain point. And we are reaching that point." (Reached. Passed.)

Hermione spoke slowly, examining Fleur through her eyes, "What haven't you been telling me?"

"I still do not know how to tell you about the courtship, about being veela, about it all."

"How about the truth?" Pause. "And all of it."

When Fleur hesitated to reply, Hermione sat up straighter. (Stiffer.)

"It is not that I have been lying to you. The courtship ritual is complicated. It is hard to explain. It is not something that I think I even understand fully myself."

"Try me." Again a pause. "We could figure it out together."

Fleur sighed. Hermione's tone was not encouraging. "As a veela, I am incapable of truly loving more than one person. You know this. And once I am sealed to that person, I am bound to them for life whether or not…" Fleur inhaled and exhaled cautiously, "whether or not those feelings are mutual. To a degree. And while arguably the courtship begins to happen before the sealing occurs, the courtship ritual is not officially recognized until after the sealing has occurred."

"When and how does this sealing happen?" There was hesitancy to how Hermione spoke the word. Perhaps Fleur was projecting but Hermione's pronunciation of the word sealing felt laden with nervousness. It was not comforting.

Fleur bit her lip. "The sealing or the ritual?"

"Aren't the same thing?"

"The sealing is part of the ritual, yes, an initiation of it. But between the sealing and the final completion? It could take anywhere from days to months. They are the same, but different, the beginning and the end to the same story if you will."

"Months, but not years?"

"I have never heard of it taking that long," Fleur responded, carefully considering her words.

"Meaning that it's hard to survive for that long," Hermione translated Fleur's calculated words, putting another piece together, pulling out hard facts from Fleur's vague replies the best she could. Something she could hold onto, something she could grasp. "So once you are sealed to me, we have a matter of months, at most, to complete the courtship ritual."

"I think we can safely assume that I could survive at least a year without any relative problems," Fleur spoke quietly. A year from now. It seemed far off, almost unapproachable. Unreachable. Untouchable.

"Fleur, it's your health."

"And it is your life, Hermione. I do not want to rush you."

"And I don't want you to die."

Fleur extended a hand across the distance that had grown between their bodies and stroked Hermione's cheek before cupping Hermione's face in the palm of her hand. "We are not going to worry about such matters."

"But I do, Fleur. I do. All the time." Hermione nearly whispered the words. Fleur could miss them if she wanted. This, them… it wasn't supposed to be about her, about her health, it was supposed to be about them. About love. (Idealistic?) What the courtship ritual entailed… it would only truly work if it was real. She wanted it to be real. She needed to know that it was real.

"Save your worry, I am not going to die from this," Fleur found enough courage within her to (hopefully) sound reassuring and positive. A quiet part of her hoped that she would not make herself into a liar.

"I don't know if I can believe you, Fleur. Your life depends on this, this ritual that I am somehow part of that I know next to nothing about. It scares me," Hermione seemed to plead with her eyes, her voice, her body. "How do you become sealed to me? And what happens after the ritual is complete?"

  
"I…" Fleur looked down, searching for words. "It is complicated." (It's already happening. It should have been talked about earlier.)

"Fleur, that isn't enough. It was barely enough then, and it's definitely not enough now. It's complicated? To you Fleur everything is complicated." She broke away from Fleur's touch. "What? You don't think that I can handle it? You want this, you want us to progress naturally, but what is natural Fleur? What's your definition of natural in this particular scenario? Because I don't see how it can be us. You're my professor, I'm your student. We're women. You're part veela. Our relationship… it's unconventional at best. By some standards there is already nothing 'natural' about it, about us." Hermione closed her eyes with frustration. "And we are… This isn't a relationship that can be taken lightly and I know that. Your life depends on this, on us doing it right, whatever right is. But I don't know how to do that, and you're not telling me. And I'm scared, Fleur, I'm so scared. I'm scared that you're going to die. I'm scared of losing you because I care for you so much. I'm falling for you in ways, in depths that scare me. And I'm scared because you don't seem to be able to tell me the truth about what's going on with you, with us. You don't seem to trust me with our relationship. I have no idea what's going on with us because  _you won't tell me_. I'm doing this half-blind because of you and it is not okay."

"I… I apologize. I'm trying." Fleur looked down, Hermione's words washing over her like a squall. The words she had meant to say became sealed behind her teeth and she did not know how to break them loose and into the night air.

When it came down to it, Fleur just didn't know how to tell her. She had been sealed to Hermione for a long time. It was not something she had noticed initially. She feared rejection, of overwhelming Hermione and placing too much pressure on her. And it had held her tongue, kept her secrets. And this silence was a betrayal. Hermione hated being lied to, she hated deception. But most of all, Fleur feared what would happen if Hermione truly knew how much power she had over Fleur. Laurent and Anuk were still fresh wounds on every Delacour's emotional skin.

No. What Fleur feared most was that what Hermione felt for her wasn't real. That she was with Fleur out of some pity confused with affection and physical attraction. And Fleur could not handle that.

"Why do you tense up every time the tournament was mentioned? It's not just Cedric, is it? And what was Sol saying happened during the tournament?" As Hermione spoke, her words picked up steam, anger. "That's when it happened, wasn't it, when you fell for me?"

Fleur did not move, made no motion to reply, but even in the darkness her face betrayed her.

"Then why does it upset you? What aren't you telling me, Fleur?" Hermione pressed on, her words accelerating, rising in scale, in anger, displaying her true frustration. "You know what," Hermione pulled herself out of bed and stood up. "Try in the morning. I'm really tired and I'm going to go sleep in my own bed." (Never mind that she had never slept in that bed before.)

"Hermione!" Fleur shot out of bed, overcoming some of her paralysis.

"No, Fleur. No. Just… no. Not tonight." Hermione turned and walked out of the room, closely the door abruptly behind her. "I'm too exhausted for this."

Fleur sank back into bed, leaned against the headboard, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her noise before letting out a large exhale of frustration. That, it was safe to say, went disastrously.

Fleur stayed like that for as long as she could handle it, but her stomach, her mind, her heart got the better of her. It was eating away at her even though she knew she should let Hermione calm down. She lay in bed for as long as she could. And then she stood up.

Pulling her bathrobe around her body, she padded down the hallway to the guest bedroom where she assumed Hermione had gone to. And sure enough, light seeped out from underneath the door leaking out into the dark hallway. Pressing her ear to the doorway she could sense the girl on the other side. (She knew she should tell her.)

She knocked tentatively. No answer.

"Hermione?" No answer.

She tried the door. Locked.

"Hermione, please. Let me in." No answer. As she spoke, Fleur gripped the handle. "Can we talk about this? I want to tell you. I do. You just have to be patient with me. I'm trying." Pause. "I'll try harder." No response. "Please."

Fleur rested her head on the doorway. "Please. I am sorry. I apologize. I have been unfair and unthoughtful and selfish. You deserve to know. And I want to tell you. Please believe me when I tell you I do. I just… I just cannot talk about this through a locked door. Please let me in."

Through the door she could hear a shift, some movement. The door unlocked, the handle turned. Fleur stepped away from the door as it opened. A small blonde head poked out.

"Can't you see that you've hurt her enough for one night?" Through the darkness, the tone of her little sister's voice cut straight to Fleur's heart.

Before Fleur could respond Gabrielle had closed and re-locked the door with a concise, cold click. For a moment, Fleur just stood there, shocked. And then, on top of the pain, the embarrassment, and the guilt came feelings of betrayal.

Gabrielle was her sister. Had she really done something so terrible that her own sister would side against her? (For her. Against her stupidity.) And didn't Gabrielle see that Fleur was trying? That she was hurting too? And probably just as scared as Hermione?

But Hermione was scared because she did not understand, she did not know and Fleur wouldn't let her. Fleur was scared because she knew it all.

Fleur leaned up against the wall and slid down. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Merry Christmas.


	22. Holding

This was not the first night that Fleur had slept alone. Logically, she had spent most of her life sleeping by herself and had slept perfectly fine. It was only recently that she began sharing her bed with Hermione. (It felt like months. Lifetimes.) It was surprising how easily one can fall into routine, take comfort in something so new and so fresh as if it was how life always was, always had been, and how life always would be. Or at least, should be. Not that this, their sharing a bed, would stop. (It wouldn't. It couldn't. She needed Hermione.)

This was not a good night. And she slept alone.

Perhaps it wasn't so much the fact that she was used to sleeping with Hermione (the warmth, the softness, the comfort) but the feeling in her stomach. It gnawed at her. No matter how much she twisted and tossed in her covers, she could not shake it, could not escape it. She tried not to think about what had happened, but the truth gripped her. It was pointless to think of anything else. The thoughts clung to her eyelids, prying them open, and forcing her to remain awake. Hermione's words pounded against her skull, over and over reminding her that what she had told her girlfriend so far wasn't enough. That Hermione was scared (of her, for her, for them?). She knew that not knowing scared Hermione—but knowing might frighten her off too.

Backwards. Forwards. Fleur did not know where they were going anymore.

Hermione's words ran jagged through Fleur's mind, catching on all the truth that Hermione had said, catching on her genuine anger and fear for being kept in the dark for so long. Fleur's mind ran a ragged monologue grasping at words, thoughts, ideas to tell Hermione. To explain. To reveal. To confess. She rehearsed her words over and over, constantly changing them. Revising. Repeating what she had just said, forgetting at times what she had decided to say before or after. Never truly holding onto the logical order she was so carefully arranging and rearranging in her mind.

She could not sleep.

It was late in the evening, early in the morning when Fleur pulled herself out of bed hoping, hunting for some relief. She just needed to move despite the exhaustion that lay locked into her bones, clawing at her eyes, radiating throughout her skin. Lying there, all she could do was think. And her mind? Her mind was merciless.

Without turning a light on, she felt her way out into the darkness in the hallway. Holding an arm out and tracing it across the wall, she guided herself down the small dark hallway.

Light crept out from under Hermione's door, invading the darkness with an (un)welcoming kind of warmth. Was the brunette awake too? Fleur paused momentarily, biting her lip. Gabrielle's words had not left her ears since the girl had spoken them hours ago. Had she not hurt Hermione enough for one night?

Perhaps she had.

Fleur stepped past Hermione's door.

Closing the bathroom door behind her, Fleur sat on the edge of the bathtub. Fleur gripped her head in her hands. Her mind would not stop, even here. After a while, she stood up and splashed water on hers face. The water dripping down her skin, faintly tickling, only offered a minor distraction.

Fleur knew she needed sleep. The day had exhausted her. Staying awake from anxiety all night would only hurt her physically, would only weaken her further. Her mother kept a sleeping draught in the cupboard above the kitchen. Fleur couldn't remember at the moment how much the dose was exactly, but she thought she would only need a small drop to quiet her mind. Yes. That was a good idea. She would be useless tomorrow if she did not sleep. And she would sleep only once her mind allowed her to. And her mind would not give her reprieve unless aided by Hermione's forgiveness. Or a sleeping potion.

Fleur dried her soaking face in a soft towel and for a moment it seemed strange that the towel retained its softness even at this time of night. And the coolness of the doorknob against her hand as she turned it? That, too, seemed somehow strange.

As she passed Hermione's closed door on the way to the kitchen, once again she found herself pausing, lingering. She pressed her ear up against the door and strained to hear her lover's breathing. Maybe if she heard Hermione sleeping… then what?

"You can come in, you know," a voice spoke, quietly from the other end. It was a familiar voice, but it seemed strained and exhausted. Strange to Fleur's ears. Fleur hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Unsure if she had actually heard the words or not. 

The voice came again, more recognizable (in its annoyance) this time. "Or not, your choice."

Fleur opened the door—had Gabrielle left it unlocked after she left?— but remained in the doorway. Hermione was sitting up in bed with a book on her lap—the one her Father had given her that morning (was it still Christmas? How odd).

"I could see your shadow from under the door. You don't normally get up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom."

Fleur shrugged. "I could not sleep."

"Same." Hermione's voice was distant. She pulled aside some of the covers for Fleur. "Well, get in."

Fleur hesitated for a second before closing the door behind her—clicking shut louder than she expected—and crossing the (seemingly large) distance between them.

"I'm still angry at you," Hermione spoke, before rolling over onto her side and, in doing so, turning her back on Fleur.

Fleur slowly got into the bed and covered her body with the blankets. The bed was considerably smaller than the one Fleur slept in. While Fleur was sure that the bed was comfortable for one person, two people were pushing its capacity. She did not know whether or not she should touch Hermione, but considering the size of the bed it seemed impossible for their bodies not to touch. However she hesitated awkwardly at the far edge of the bed.

"Hold me," Hermione mumbled, partly a request. "We'll talk in the morning."

Silently, Fleur slipped in closer and wrapper her arms around Hermione's waist. Despite the unspoken tension, there was enough comfort in the moment that Fleur felt her mind quiet and give into her body's needs. Through the window, Fleur could see the first signs of morning before an indescribable, intense exhaustion flooded through her.

* * *

It took Fleur a moment to orient herself to the world when she woke. Of course she had never slept in her own guest room before. Why would she have? But as her eyes opened to a world where she slept on an unfamiliar bed, she became all too quickly aware of the previous night's events that still pounded heavily against her stomach. And even then she felt a deep, physical exhaustion that resided within the core of her.

The sight of her owl Zephyrine perched on the nightstand compounded the oddity of the strange room. He looked calmly down at her without blinking. Turning her head to the side, she was greeted by the sight of Hermione sitting up and diligently writing her daily letter to Lavender.

"I was wondering when you would wake," the brunette stated flatly. "You don't normally sleep this late."

In fact, Fleur was usually the first to awaken. But she was tired, oh so tired. Part of her wanted to roll over and fall back to her exhaustion.

Fleur shrugged as she pulled herself into a more upward position. "I was exhausted." (From the party. From their fight. Was it a fight? Would that be what they called it?)

"I tried to wake you earlier, but you wouldn't wake."

Fleur bit her lip. "I had no idea." But the stress of their fight along with the exhaustion from the party? Of course she had gone that deep into sleep. At the point when she had reached such a place, what could she say? 'Our fight has exhausted me, I might sleep in a bit later tomorrow. However do not worry about me. I shall be fine.' And at that point she realized that yes, she should have, she should have said something.

"Your mother explained that it was only natural after a busy and taxing day for someone in your condition to sleep heavily. And deeply."

"You spoke with my Mother about me?" Fleur sat up in bed, vaguely squeamish with the thought.

"She advised me to watch your breathing." Hermione responded somewhat distantly and then more pointed. "Fleur, this really isn't something your mother should be explaining to me."

"I know. I apologize. It has been unfair of me to keep as much from you and I plan to rectify this. I am serious." Fleur closed her eyes. She was so stupid, always finding excuses to not say anything, reasons to remain silent because at the moment it just seemed… easier. She needed to learn how to say, how to speak, how to talk. And she needed to learn now. Not learn, know. She needed to know now.

She opened her mouth.

"Well I have to finish this letter to Lavender," Hermione spoke, keeping her eyes on the letter.

Fleur nodded, dumbstruck, the wind, the words knocked out of her. After a moment, she pushed the duvet off her body and stood up. Hermione looked at her, surprised by Fleur's movement, as if she had been expecting something difference.

"I shall go get dressed, then, and allow you your privacy for your letter writing." Her words sounded strange to her. Never before had she left the room while Hermione wrote her letters. Before she had turned and gone, it seemed like Hermione was about to say something. But Fleur did not know for sure and so she walked out of the room.

Back in her bedroom, Fleur tried to remember how to breath in ways that did not exhale frustration and confusion into the world. She dressed slowly, lingering painfully on every detail of her outfit, from the zipper to the creases around her hips, both dreading to return and feeling anxious to be taking so much time. Perhaps she could go straight down to breakfast. But that was cowardly and the root of her current problems.

Hermione was still writing her letter when Fleur returned almost fifteen minutes later. Fleur lingered in the doorway, not really sure what to do.

Hermione looked up, after several seconds (felt like minutes). "Yes?"

"I was wondering if we could talk," Fleur responded.

"Let me finish writing my letter to Lavender. And I'm getting hungry," Hermione responded after hesitating. Fleur could see Hermione battling within herself, as if she wanted to say yes but was still too angry, too frustrated to say it just yet.

"After breakfast then." Fleur pressed.

Hermione, whose eyes had ventured back to stare at her letter, once again looked up at Fleur. Fleur consciously tried to lock eyes with Hermione to show that she meant it. Hermione avoided eye contact.

"After breakfast, if you feel you must," Hermione repeated after a few moments. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish my letter."

"After breakfast, because I want to," Fleur corrected.

Once again it appeared as if Hermione was about to say something, but she closed her mouth so Fleur closed the door behind her and walked out the room. (Hermione returned her attention to the letter. She had not written a new sentence in over fifteen minutes. She rested her head on her knees and when she felt sure that Fleur was out of hearing range released a quiet sob.)

* * *

Downstairs Fleur found her mother and her sister sitting at the kitchen table. Her mother was clutching her coffee while her sister played absentmindedly with the saltshaker. However Gabrielle immediately stood up and, without so much as a nod in Fleur's direction, walked out the room, seeming to be mumbling loudly about stupid imbeciles. Fleur sighed to herself.

"Your sister is mad at you," Apolline observed over her coffee mug. "And for the record, I am not that impressed with you either." Fleur closed her eyes, letting out a large exhale as she made her way over to pour herself some coffee as her mother continued to speak. "I had thought—expected, hoped, assumed that you had told her more, Fleur. Really. She came downstairs an hour ago worried half to death because you weren't waking up. She was frantic, Fleur. Frantic. The poor girl kept asking if it was her fault and kept asking if there was something she should do. So I told her to watch your breathing. She honestly didn't know if you would wake up again." Her mother then shot her a look that this was not acceptable.

"We had a small… miscommunication last night that took what little energy I had left," Fleur didn't turn to face her mother as she poured herself some coffee. "It was not the time to explain what would happen."

"No. It was not the time. Long before last night was the time to explain. No. If I may, I think you are having a massive lack of communication rather than a  _mere miscommunication_." Apolline sighed. "Do not even think of drinking that coffee until you take a double dose. If you did not have company and if you had not gotten yourself into such a horrendous mess, I would send you straight back to bed. However, you have to fix this. And then bed. Honestly, Fleur, I had expected more from you."

Nothing hurt more than a parent's disappointment. Fleur turned around and pinched the bridge of her nose. How did it come to all of this? She hadn't been scolded in years. She was so taken aback, she did not even know how to protest. "I know. It was a mistake. I apologize."

Apolline stood up and moved towards the cupboard. As she spoke, she sifted through the cupboard looking for the correct potion. "Do not apologize to me." Apolline paused for a moment. When she spoke next her words weighed heavily with responsibility. "Fleur, we are veelas."

"I know that," Fleur could barely contain her irritation. She was more than aware that she had veela blood. In fact, if anything, she wished she was less aware. Less veela.

"I do not think that you do, Fleur. Not truly, not by the way you are acting. You seem to be forgetting that we do not fall in love as wizards do. Our love takes a different shape, a different form. A different progression." Fleur opened her mouth to protest, but Apolline shot her a look and Fleur closed it again. "It is the essence of our life, Fleur, this love we discover in an instant. It will either end us or begin us anew. There is nothing in us that left unchanged or unaffected. And it our responsibility, our _responsibility,_ Fleur," she repeated for emphasis, "to educate our chosen one about our unique, particular condition. We are in extremely delicate and fragile conditions until the mating ritual is complete and they need to be aware of this. Certainly, there are some matters which might be better… discussed later, but there are some that should have been talked about by now that I doubt you have." Apolline closed the cupboard door.

"I have not kept her completely in the dark, Mother."

"You and Philippe, I do not understand your generation. He denies the ritual, our heritage altogether, trying to idiotically forge some new biology for himself. And you? You start the ritual, but are slowly self-destructing it by this ridiculous need for silence. Are you ashamed of being a veela?" Her mother gripped the potion bottle so tightly that her knuckles turned weight.

Fleur quietly shook her head no, though did not hold a strong enough conviction to say it out loud.

"Please, just tell Hermione the truth. And do it soon. And try, just try, to remember that being a veela isn't some curse I foisted upon you."

Fleur nodded, feeling more ashamed by the second. "I know, Mother."

"I know you know, Fleur. But I wish you would stop simply knowing and actually start doing something about your knowledge," Apolline handed Fleur the phial. "You are not only hurting yourself by your silence anymore. Even Gabrielle knows that."

"Gabrielle is an extremely smart girl." Fleur took the bottle, placing down her coffee cup before unscrewing the top to her potion.

"I am not questioning the intelligence of my youngest daughter right now, however it really does not require a whole lot of intelligence to realize the self-destruction you are causing right now."

Fleur chose not to respond as she felt the truth in that statement required no further validation. Instead she mentally prepared herself for the potion. As she brought the bottle to her lips, her eyes locked onto Hermione as she entered the room. While Hermione knew that Fleur took a daily potion (that she was more or less dependent on it until the ritual was completed), Fleur doubted that until now Hermione had ever seen Fleur take it. She had always been careful about that, always ashamed of the face she made after swallowing. Ashamed that she had to take it. Ashamed of being weak.

Aware that her lover's eyes were on her in that moment, Fleur braced herself for the unique taste of disgust to invade her mouth. And like every day since returning home from the tournament, she nearly gagged, nearly choked, and had to fight the urge to spit it out. (What would her condition be like if she had confessed it sooner?) It was a taste she could never get used to. And now Hermione had seen this moment of weakness.

(Maybe it was time.)

* * *

Breakfast was a tense affair. The uncomfortable silence was disrupted only Apolline placing her never empty coffee mug down and silverware moving against the plates. After breakfast, Hermione quickly excused herself, citing a near desperate need to take a shower.

Fleur, feeling despondent and helpless, helped her mother clean up from breakfast. However Apolline only shook her head as Fleur tried to help, the way parents do when they realize their child was making a mistake but there was nothing they could do but hope that this would be one of the less painful learning experiences in the end. And this was harder to bear than the lecturing, the disapproval.

Fleur soon found reason to wander off back upstairs to wait for Hermione. But she did not know where to wait. It did not seem right to wait in Hermione's room, however she doubted that Hermione would come to her room any time soon.

This is perhaps how Fleur found herself sitting dejectedly on the back steps to her house staring off into the sky. She did not look over her shoulder when she heard the door open and close behind her. She barely turned her head when a familiar figure sat down next to her.

"I was looking for you," Hermione explained, her tone softer than it had been for a while. Her hair was still damp, dripping onto her shoulders.

"You found me," Fleur could not hide the physical exhaustion from her voice. She needed to sleep. She needed to fix this.

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking," Fleur shrugged, monosyllabic.

"About…?"

"Flying a kite," Fleur spoke without hesitation. She held her arm out into the air in front of her, as if testing the world to see if it was ready for another kite to soar through its skies. "However I am not certain we have enough wind today. I would like to think so, however." She turned more directly to face Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I thought we were going to talk," Hermione responded after pausing.

"You took a shower."

"And I missed my one window of opportunity?"

"No." She turned to look fully at Hermione. "I want to explain my actions and my words. Or lack thereof. It is not that I do not want to tell you, or that I do not trust you. It is that I simply… I simply do not know how to say what I need to say."

"Do you think you can figure it out?"

"I think I need patience, but I have the first few sentences figured out."

"Fleur, I'm going to need a lot more than a few sentences."

"I know." Fleur had held onto her all her secrets, her sickness, and her exhaustion tightly in her fist. She held onto it all, the secrets she kept in order to keep Hermione at her side. But she knew now that these same secrets were driving Hermione away. And when she looked into Hermione's face, it was not anger she saw there. But traced with worry and genuine concern. It was time to let go of all that she had been holding onto so tightly.


	23. A Way Out

Fleur exhaled. Her eyes stretched back up to the tired, grey sky. (Exhausted, like her.) Looking past the slowly moving clouds, she collected her thoughts, organized her mind as she prepared to speak to Hermione. Hermione sat silently next to her with anxious anticipation. (Or was it just with anxiety?) When Fleur's eyes wandered away from the sky and back to her lover, she found she could not put an exact name on her lover's expression. No matter. Her words were likely to quickly change that expression into another soon enough. And it would require a new name, a different kind of adjective of its own. The thought of having to place names to every single facial expression only exhausted her further.

Fleur stood up shakily and offered a hand to Hermione. "There is a lot I have to say to you." She looked behind her shoulder for a moment. "I cannot walk far right now, but I would rather have this conversation someplace more… private. And preferably with a view of the ocean."

And so they walked out of the backyard, both not knowing what to say and so both said nothing. What started out as holding hands quickly evolved—and both would be hard pressed to explain exactly how or when it occurred—to Fleur leaning heavily on Hermione for support. It just happened naturally. And in Fleur's condition, what happened naturally was also a necessity. (Both would agree, however, that the shift of positions was not initially with Fleur's health in mind.)

They did not walk far, only making it a small ways up a nearby hill. Just far enough away from the house for Fleur to feel comfortable. Just far enough up the hill to see the ocean.

Fleur sat down with an audible sigh of relief. For a moment the two just sat there gazing at the ocean. Hermione sat silently, her eyes on the waves crashing against each other. (Waiting. Torn between anxious and curious.) Fleur was completely occupied with catching her breath, collecting her thoughts. In the (uncomfortable) silence, Fleur squeezed Hermione's hand. And Hermione squeezed back. (A moment of brief comfort, a moment for hope.) When their eyes met, Hermione's face, full of anxiety, only made Fleur more nervous. But there was no more putting off the inevitable.

"Some of this you already know but perhaps it bears repeating, if only in a new light. When I came to Hogwarts this year, it was not solely to teach. Over the summer, I had written Dumbledore about my… condition and your unknowing involvement with it. I cannot say what I was expecting from this letter; I only knew that I was… nearing desperation and beginning to run out of time." Fleur exhaled slightly. "His response to my letter was a formal invitation to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. At first, I was reluctant."

"But you took the job."

"I had no other choice. It was the only way that I could find where I could be with you…" With every word, Fleur felt further stripped of her defenses, naked and vulnerable. "So I quit my job at Gringotts for a job I did not have any previous desire for or had any actual training or preparation for. This did not seem to bother Dumbledore. Others yes, but that is beside the point. This is what you desired to know originally when you began to investigate me, oui?"

As Fleur spoke, her eyes remained locked on the ocean. In some ways, the ocean was quiet. It was only the day after Christmas and many ships remained docked. Many were being prepared to leave, Fleur guessed, but for the moment they slept peacefully at the shore. (Fleur wished more than ever that in that moment she was peacefully asleep curled up next to Hermione.) However the waves rolled in and out as they always did, either crashing or whispering against the shore, too important for any human calendar or considerations. It was like any other moment and the ocean had needs. Fleur watched the waves, to scared to look at her lover… like always, it was mesmerizing. And within it, she found a smallest hint of comfort.

"It was, yes." Hermione nodded, examining Fleur's words over in her mind carefully. But that was not what she wanted to know now. Or rather, there was more she wanted to know and this had become less important by comparison. "So your condition then was… I mean you weren't doing well when you came to Hogwarts. I had no idea." Pause. "Your condition is not easily readable."

"I was, and am, in no perceivable danger. But time… I have been living with this condition since I was seventeen. It begins to weigh heavily on one with time.." Fleur shrugged, before moving on, as if explaining. "I fell for you the moment I saw you. As it goes with my kind." Fleur's voice was even, steady. But her eyes seemed to be elsewhere, fighting something off. A smile perhaps. The full memory washing over her. "It was my first night at Hogwarts. You were in the Great Hall. Talking. Smiling." She shook her head. The soft smile that had come to her features disappeared as she continued to speak. "Shortly after, I started to become… ill, for lack of a better word."

"I barely remember that night," Hermione spoke after a moment, almost apologetically. And certainly what she remembered probably did not include Fleur.

"Why would you?" Fleur poked the ground with her finger, feeling distinctly like a child in that gesture. "When you read the book I gave you, you undoubtedly read the passage which states that those with veela blood fall in love at first sight and that they fall in love for life." Fleur paused, weighing what came next, deciding how to much to say, to reveal, to confess. Hermione said she wanted to know it all, the whole truth. That was a dangerous prospect. "This is not necessarily true. At least, for half breeds."

Hermione turned to face Fleur, who avoided eye contact, her eyes shifting ever back towards the ocean. It was if everything Fleur had been telling her was a lie.

"When a veela falls in love with another veela, it is almost always reciprocated and they are sealed almost instantly. The courtship ritual follows shortly thereafter. Sometimes in matter of hours, at the very longest a week. Complications, however, arose when veelas began falling in love with humans. The entire sealing process, which had been taken for granted and happened only in a matter of seconds, changed. Or rather, it simply became more complicated." Pause. "Well, simply is not the right word for that, but I suppose you understand the sentiment. And then their children had to be considered. Once human blood is introduced, the courtship ritual progresses even more… slowly, I suppose you could say. The Wizarding blood changes it slightly, I imagine. It is hard to know the extent of the changes as veelas mating with wizards is a relatively recent development. And since we prefer our secrets, especially considering the last war, there has only been a little research done. Our relationship… my condition, it has variations that are still not fully understood."

"That is not the most entirely comforting thought."

"Wizards introduce a new set of biological concerns and social customs and traditions. And this —"

"Complicates things, I know." Hermione finished Fleur's sentence, an exhaustion to her voice. "So teach me about your culture. Explain your condition to me more fully. What exactly is this potion you are dependent on and how does… how do we become sealed?"

Fleur blinked, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. She bit her lip as she decided which ones to answer and how. "For those with veela blood, we need love like, well… everything is secondary. That is our culture: love, sensuality, sexuality, but most importantly, family." She breathed. "And my condition is a malnutrition, in a sense, of love. The potion is a temporary solution until I am sealed to someone, until the courtship ritual is performed."

"So in order for you to, I mean, we need to become sealed. How do we do that, Fleur?" Hermione spoke slowly, as if she was working each word out and uttering it only when she meant it.

"There is a moment before you truly fall in love where you say 'yes, I agree to this love.' There are several times, I imagine, where one must say yes. Yes to the feeling, yes to acknowledging it, to acting upon it. Yes to committing to it further, deeper. Yes to every morning you wake up to it and decide once again that it is worth it." Fleur trailed off for a moment to breath, to think. "Perhaps I am digressing, but I do not believe that we are always aware of saying yes but we do it all the time. I do not have vast experience in these matters, though, and I could be wrong. Maybe it only happens with veelas. I do not know for certain. But in order to be sealed, I suppose the best way to explain it though is that we both need to say yes."

"Yes, to what? All of it?"

As Fleur spoke, she had yet been able to look Hermione in the face. "When I saw you in the Great Hall, it scared me how much I felt for you the instant I saw you. I doubt that I can ever truly explain the experience I had when… it was like my heart stopped and when it started, it was changed forever in that moment just because I saw you. You were and are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. And there was something in your eyes, a passion, a…" Fleur smiled softly to herself, reliving a moment of that memory. A warmth spread through her voice. "Your eyes, they are another thing that I cannot describe with words, no matter how many languages I speak. But in that moment, without realizing, I said yes and I agreed to all the consequences of loving you. I could not help but commit myself to loving you. It was quiet, in a way, my yes. In fact, I did not realize I had even said it until last year. But it was in that instant, I realized, that I had said yes to you. I could not help it and it was not like I could tell you then." She paused slightly. "We had not even spoken yet."

"What do you mean, you did not know until last year?"

"It scared me, Hermione. You scared me. For so many reasons I was frightened by how much I felt for you. You are a girl, to begin with, and I was not expecting that. Part of me, I suppose, could have figured it out if I wanted to. But who desires to do that?" Fleur shook her head. "No one wants to come face to face with exactly how different they are. With the full extent of their _otherness._  And you were young. So young. You seemed almost like a child to me." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Fleur continued. "The age difference between fourteen and seventeen is more significant than it is between us now."

"You are still my professor." Hermione arched up her eyebrow.

"True and I believe we can both agree that my being your professor complicates matters, if we are to use my favorite word." Fleur bit her lip, trying to find the strength to continue. "And so I said yes to you and then ran from it, convincing and tricking myself into thinking that I had time, that I could… if I wanted to… that I had not yet said yes." Fleur shook her head, her eyes averted to the ground away from the sky, the ocean, and away from Hermione. Coming up with a way to divert the subject slightly, away from her digressions. "I really do not know how to explain this. At some point, the courtship ritual is going to become… more of an issue in our relationship. I prefer things to progress naturally between us. To not have my health be forefront to the decisions we make about commitment and our… affections. But it will become an issue at some point, and I think my inability to speak about it has made it an issue sooner than it needed to be."

"I need to know, Fleur. I need to know that you trust me." There was an insistence, a pleading to Hermione's voice that almost covered up the hurt in her tone.

"You feeling anything but loved and cared for in this relationship… that was unintentional on my part. I trust you with my life. I always have. Don't you see?" The power dynamic of their relationship was, like so many aspects of their relationship, complicated. If anything, her lack of communication, she realized, was some sort of strange compensation for the vulnerability, the weakness, the utter dependence she felt. It was not an excuse, only a realization. "There are things that I need to tell you, Hermione, things that I would rather not. But you have to understand that for two years, I honestly believed that I had not said yes, that I was not already partly sealed to you, that I had time."

"What… I mean…" Hermione did not know what to say, suddenly scared by what her lover had to say. "What are you trying to say?"

"Our bodies do not begin to weaken immediately, but shortly after if our affections remain unrequited." Fleur's words felt heavy in her mouth. Would she actually be able to say it? Should she?

"How much exactly is shortly?"

"Within a few months." Fleur paused. "By the Second Task, it was becoming more noticeable."

"Fleur, were you being treated?" When Fleur did not answer the question, Hermione repeated herself. "Fleur, were you being treated for your condition?"

"Hermione, please, chastise me about the tournament later. I'm trying to explain—" Fleur answered with reluctance.

"So you weren't being treated." Hermione closed her eyes, trying in to hold in the full volumes of frustration and concern that filled her. "When did you start treatment?"

Please, I am trying to tell you something that is not easy to say." Fleur pleaded. She had worked up the courage to find the words to say some of the hardest things she had ever had to say to Hermione and Hermione was scolding her for not taking care of herself three years ago. 

"Fleur, when did you start treatment?" Hermione pressed. Fleur could almost hear the worry on Hermione's face. And still she could not look. It felt like years since she last dared to look at the brunette. Fleur knew that she was a coward.

"Mid-July of that year," Fleur spoke with a sigh. She had to pick and choose her battles with her lover's stubborn nature and today she was far too exhausted to try. "When I came back, I was distraught over Cedric, over the tournament. It took until July for my family to realize that I was also distraught over you, and that my weakness could not to be attributed to depression alone."

"So you went the entire the tournament… Fleur, you could have got yourself killed. Didn't you realize how dangerous it was?" Hermione scolded, almost in disbelief. "Did you tell anyone?"

"The danger I placed myself in has been made aware to me on several occasions since. But I survived. We Delacours have strong constitutions," Fleur smiled weakly.

"If this was going on all that year, why didn't you…? I mean you barely even seemed to acknowledge my existence." There was a confusion in Hermione's voice as if what Fleur said made no sense.

"Our bodies begin to weaken at that moment, but those of us with wizard blood, we are not bound to who they fall for until we are fully sealed. You must understand, to some degree, we are free to recover, move on, and find someone else. Whatever we do, however, is within a limited timeframe. And while it is not usually without our best interest to find another, some do try. Some even succeed."

"You mean, like Philippe." Hermione spoke with hesitancy. She did not want to hear what Fleur had to say next. Fleur did not want to say it.

"And like myself." Fleur spoke with hesitation and kept her eyes locked on the ocean, on the ground with shame. "You were a child and my life, my wellbeing, my happiness would rest partly in your hands." Fleur shook her head, regretting her words almost immediately. "I could not find the courage to attempt to court a fourteen year-old girl who was going to the Yule Ball with the very definition of fame and masculinity. I am not butch, Hermione. In fact, I am quite the opposite."

"I've never asked you to be…" Hermione spoke defensively, pain rising to the forefront of her voice.

"I know now, Hermione. Can you blame me and my uncertainty of how open a fourteen year-old girl would be to a lesbian relationship that came with a lifelong commitment? But I did know that I was becoming weaker, that I was running out of time, and I was unsure of how much time I had left. So I had to make a decision: to try with you or try to find someone else." Fleur felt herself come to the defensive to explain her actions.

"And for nearly three years, you've been trying with someone else." There was a sharp bitterness in Hermione's observation that stung Fleur deeper than she would like to admit. And if Fleur could not look at her lover earlier, she certainly could not now. But from the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a tear running down Hermione's cheek.

"Hermione, please, try to understand, could I have really approached you back then and declared my heart?"

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it, before reluctantly speaking again. "No. I had a hard enough time with it initially this year."

"So I tried to move on, but my heart… it could not. I could not." She spoke softly, almost pleading in her explanation. Pleading for what, though? Understanding? Forgiveness? "So while I looked for someone else, in the back of my head I kept telling myself that maybe when you were older maybe we would run into each other in Diagon Alley and… such silly imaginings. You see, Hermione I never gave up the thought of you, the hope of you. And yet stupidly, I tried to…" Fleur shook her head. She could not say it. It was too hard. 

"Who was it? Was there more than one?" The pain of Hermione's voice cut straight to the point, straight to what Fleur no longer had the courage to say, it cut deep into Fleur. As if it did not hurt enough as it was.

"There was only one," Fleur sighed, ashamed. She bit her lip.

"Who was it?"

Fleur played with a ring on her finger. "Bill Weasley." The name came out more as an exhale than as spoken words. It could easily slip through fingers, past ears.

"I… last year Ron thought something was going on between you two. At the time, I… I did not pay much attention." It was hard to read Hermione's tone and Fleur was still too scared to look at her.

Fleur hung her head. "To be honest, I doubt I was paying much attention either. I am not proud, but you must also realize, nothing happened. Neither of our hearts were really ever in. We were both trying to fool ourselves with each other. Even before he knew your name, he kept urging me to try. He had his assumptions about my sexuality." (And Fleur had her own assumptions about his, but this was not the place for speculation.) "He wished me, wished us the best when I left for Hogwarts."

"So up until you left for Hogwarts, you two were…" Hermione sounded as if she was about to choke over the words.

"No, Hermione. We ended almost a year ago. And we were barely together for a month. But we were, and are, still friends to some degree." They hadn't spoken in months, but she was sure that if she wrote he would reply and if he wrote she knew she would respond as well. "As much as it pains me to tell you this, this is something… I can never tell my parents."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"In my culture, what I did was exceedingly shameful. Even if I did not fully acknowledge it or realize at the time, I had already said yes. I was already partially sealed to you. So to take up with another… it is taboo. Disgraceful. This is why the family is so scandalized by Philippe. He has found his potential mate, but he avoids this person and takes up with others he is not serious about." She rested her head in her hand and shook her head.

"So you family does not know about Bill?"

"And they never can," Fleur shuddered. "I would be disowned. Or in the very least, become a scandal, another shame to the family."

Over the course of the conversation, Fleur could not say when exactly, their hands had separated. But in that pause, Hermione's hand reached out and placed her hand on top of Fleur's and squeezed it. Fleur smiled at the renewed contact, her eyes now staring at their hands. It was Hermione who spoke next. 

"Where are we in the sealing process, Fleur?"

Fleur sighed. "It is still at a point where it can be reversed."

"What do you mean by 'reversed,' Fleur?" Hermione's voice was quiet. Not soft, but quiet. Shaky. As if what Fleur had said already wasn't enough…

"The sealing officially begins the courtship ritual, it is like an engagement I suppose. An unbreakable engagement, at least on my end. Once I am fully sealed to you… how do I explain this for? Biologically and culturally, what I feel for you currently is not considered love in the full sense of the veela definition." She paused to breath, to try to dislodge the words stuck in her throat. "Now, I am not saying that it would be easy or pleasant. Recovering from one's love is never simple, and this is without the health complications that are inherently interlaced in my emotional affairs. But in theory, it can be done." As she spoke, it became increasingly hard to breath. These were not words she wanted to be saying. "It is important for you to know this because once we are sealed, fully sealed, there is no turning back. No second thoughts. And that is a lot for me to be asking you, I realize this."

"Fleur, I was aware of this choice before."

Fleur wished she didn't have to continue speaking, wished there were things she did not have to say. But it was the rule. A choice must always be given, the decision must always be respected. "Right now, if you were to get up and walk away and never speak to me again, you would break what has already been built of the seal. And we would be free to try again, or free to find another. But it won't be like this for much longer. And the minute… yes is said by you, there is no turning back."

"And… and do you want that? For me to say no?" Hermione's voice shook. "Is that why you were telling me about Bill? Why you haven't been telling me about the ritual, about your condition? You want to end things, to try it with another? But you've already said yes, so you've been—…"

Fleur reached out and tenderly touched Hermione's cheek and for the first time since the conversation began, she dared to look her lover fully in the eye. Hermione stopped speaking at once. At first, Hermione seemed like she was about to pull away from the touch. But after a moment of hesitation, she moved into the touch. 

Fleur's words were so soft that the wind threatened to carry them away unheard. "I cannot express to you in words how much I…. It is the absolutely last thing that I want to happen. I love you dearly, Hermione. More than I can ever explain. But being with me will never be a simple, easy relationship. We have little room for mistakes. You must understand is that all I want is for you to be happy and I want you to make the decision that is best for you."

"I know that, Fleur." Hermione's eyes were stubborn, persistent.

"I do not have years to wait for you to be ready to commit to me, Hermione. Even our argument last night…"

"How much time are we looking at? How much time do you actually have?" Hermione placed her hand over Fleur's on her face. She looked at Fleur with determination, not letting her lover avert her eyes once again.

"In between the time we are fully sealed and the courtship ritual? Months. Maybe a year at best. But not much more than that."

"And between now and when we need to be sealed?"

Fleur bit her lip. She tried to look away, but the look in Hermione's eyes… she couldn't. "Much less," she answered almost in a whisper.

"Are we looking at months, weeks? Days?"

"Somewhere between weeks and a few months, I imagine. It is hard to tell, exactly."

"Then why are you pushing me away?" Tears were streaming openly down Hermione's face. Fleur reached out and brushed away the tears with her thumb before kissing where the tears continued to fall.

"It is the last thing I want to do, Hermione. But you need to know. If this, if I am not truly what you want then there is still a chance for you to—… I would rather die alone than for a minute think that you might be happier with someone else, that you were with me out of pity. I only desire for you to be happy and if it is not through me then—"

"Fleur, stop it. Stop it right now." Hermione shook her head, tears still streaming down her face despite Fleur's efforts. Her expression, thick with determination, almost seemed angry despite its tenderness. "Who else would there be, Fleur? Who else? Do you think that I don't know what it means to be with you? I have been fully aware from the beginning the consequences of this, of us. I am not with you of pity or self-sacrifice to make you better. I'm with you because I want to be, because I can't not be with you. I'm not saying that I'm not overwhelmed or scared. Because I am. I'm scared all the time. The woman I care for is incredibly ill. And I somehow have the ability to help cure you but you're having problems telling me how. So yes, sometimes I feel like I'm in over my head. Because as much as I care for you, you have these defenses, these walls as if you're trying to protect me from yourself. As scared as I am, you are not that scary, Fleur." Hermione pressed on over Fleur's attempted interruptions, placing her finger lightly against Fleur's lips. "I'm sitting here next to you right now because I want to be. And while this is an incredibly painful conversation there is nowhere else I want to be. And excuse me if I don't think that I can recover from this and move on. So how dare you, no really, how dare you tell me that you love me for the first time and in the same breath offer to take it all away from me to make it easier for me. Damnit, I wanted to cherish the first time you said I love you. So how fucking dare you. How. Fucking. Dare. You."

Without saying a word, Fleur encompassed her lover in her arms and held her tight. They rocked back and forth, Hermione near-sobbing into Fleur's shoulder as Fleur let her own tears fall silently down her face. She made no move to wipe them away, fully aware of every tear and the trail it made down her face. 

"Why are you so scared that I will break you? Don't you understand that this is the last thing that I want to do?" Hermione's voice was muffled byy Fleur's shoulder, soft and pleading. "And why are you convinced that you will scare me off?"

"I have been a royal fool, haven't I?"

"And an ass."

"And an ass," Fleur repeated and kissed the top of Hermione's head. For the longest time, they remained like that, clinging desperately to each other, eyes pulled shut. It was if they could only handle the feel, the touch of each other's bodies. With time, Fleur opened her eyes and watched the ocean. She had no idea how much time had passed, was passing.

"If you ever start talking like that again, I am going to hex you."

"I will keep that in mind," Fleur smiled softly to herself. Propping Hermione's chin up with her fingers, she looked Hermione directly in the eye. "Hermione, I love you. With all my heart."

And Hermione responded with a soft, loving kiss thick with passion and devotion. The most honest response she could give at that time.

* * *

Gabrielle found the two lovers twenty minutes later lying side by side in each other's arms looking silently at the ocean. Fleur was coming in and out of sleep, trying to find the strength to walk back without letting Hermione know exactly how weak she felt in that moment. They had come a long way, but she was still ashamed, still shy about her vulnerability.

"Mother sent me to find you two. She interrupted my practice session and told me to be discreet as you two were bound to be in an intense discussion." Gabrielle shook her head at the lovers. The relief at finding them calmly and lovingly holding each other was apparent on the younger girl's face. "First I'm not allowed to practice all week because everyone is _so_ busy and stressed over the holiday that the added noise would just aggravate people. And then when I finally get a moment to do so, I am sent off to make sure everything is ok between you two. Which it is. Obviously. Because Hermione is too intelligent to let you keep being such a prat, Fleur. At least you two aren't being gross again."

"Lovely to see you too, Gabu," Fleur smiled.

Gabrielle shrugged, fully allowing the relief to be seen on her face. She even smiled slightly. "Lovely to see you looking well again. Or the start of it at least. Let's get you back to the house. Mother says you're due for another potion."

Slowly, and shakily Fleur made her way to a standing position. However, the moment she stood she instantly felt lightheaded and dizzy. Wobbling as she stood, she felt two sets of hands reach out to steady her. And so Fleur slowly made it back to her home, leaning as heavily as her pride would allow on both her sister and her lover.

"Lovely. Now Mother's going to send you right to bed. Then I'll have to entertain Hermione and be quiet and let you sleep. Figures. And I just discovered a way to make the drums keep a decent beat."

"Drums?" Hermione, who was usually more than happy to simply watch the sisters interact, spoke up.

"Oh, Gabrielle has not informed you yet? She is attempting to start a five piece one person band." Fleur grinned.

"Attempting?"

"It's turning out to be harder than I thought," Gabrielle noted glumly. "Mother keeps trying to squash my natural talent. And I have to come up with ways to charm the instruments to play a song in time together."

"Your natural talent must not have been present when you tried to play the trumpet." Fleur teased. Though secretly, she was very impressed with her sister. What Gabrielle was attempting was a high level magic. And while the younger girl was progressing slower than she would like, Gabrielle was doing remarkably well.

"My natural talent does not involve brass instruments." Gabrielle stuck out her tongue. "It is more concerned with drums, guitars, keyboards and the like. The cool instruments."

"And not to mention the triangle," Hermione added jokingly.

"Oh, of course not. That is the first and only instrument Gabrielle has perfected so far with magic." Fleur teased, but it fact, it was true.

"I'll perfect others soon enough, thank you. And like your teaching has gone wonderfully? All you've managed to do is seduce one of your students."

"All I have managed? Hermione is far more challenging than a drum set, I would argue, hm?"

"Hey!" Hermione playfully sent Fleur a light shove.

"Likely." Gabrielle blew a few wayward hairs out of her face, sending a light shove back in Hermione's direction. "At least my drum set isn't as rude." 

"You are just jealous that your drum set is not nearly as attractive as my Hermione," Fleur grinned playfully.

"Your Hermione?" Hermione repeated, lifting an eyebrow up.

"Mine," Fleur smiled.

Gabrielle sent another light shove back, to which Hermione responded with another. "Stop being gross."

"You two are supposed to be helping me get back to the house, not damage me with all this shoving."

"Well, excuse me, your ladyship, but whose idea was it to go for a walk in your condition in the first place?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but ran her thumb tenderly along Fleur's side.

"As my girlfriend, I believe it is your duty to dissuade me from doing something idiotic, hm?"

"You know you expect the impossible."

"Seriously. Stop it. I am allergic to gross. We have meters to go and Fleur is walking slower than a two-legged turtle. At this rate, you'll have to carry both of us back, Hermione."


	24. Recuperation

Fleur finally allowed herself to give in to her all-consuming exhaustion after her second potion in a matter of hours. She drifted in and out of a deep, dreamless sleep for the rest of the day. Sometimes when she awoke, Hermione was lying there next to her, usually reading or writing. Fleur would barely have time to nestle up against Hermione and kiss her, before falling back under the weight of sleep. Other times, Hermione was not. Fleur wondered how her lover was spending her day, but she was never awake long enough to give this question any serious thought.

Her exhaustion seemed to radiate out across her body from deep within her bones. It weighed heavily down on her body, on her mind and there was nothing she could do to free herself from it. The last time she felt this kind of exhaustion was after returning home from the Triwizard Tournament. She had been competing intensely for months while ignoring her physical condition and going without the potion. She had been sliding into a state of hopelessness over Hermione and Cedric's death.

But for her to feel like this now? After a party and a lovers' quarrel? It only demonstrated how much further along (farther behind) she was in her condition. In the moments of being awake, completely helpless to her exhaustion, Fleur realized how dire her situation truly was. She was fooling herself and lying to Hermione with this illusion of the luxury of time. She had said months, a year. Even months, she knew now, was perhaps being overly optimistic. But even with this realization, part of her just wanted to trust herself, trust Hermione, and hope. Telling Hermione would only make her feel more pressured. It had to happen naturally, or not at all. There was a right time for everything. (Patience is all things. Patience in one thing. Always.)

Fleur awoke to Hermione softly kissing her forehead. Fleur sat up stifling a yawn as she tried to shake the exhaustion from her eyes. Looking out the window momentarily, Fleur wondered when it had become so dark.

"Wake up, it's dinner time," Hermione smiled softly as she sat on the bed beside Fleur. A tray of food hovered in the air beside Hermione. "How was your sleep?"

"This is entirely unnecessary," Fleur groaned. Being fed in bed was not something entirely new to her. After the tournament, Apolline had insisted for several weeks that Fleur remain in bed. Her meals were brought up by one of her parents. On rare occasions, it would be either Elzy or Josom. And Gabrielle would always be hiding behind the door scared for her sister, scared by her sudden weakness and depression. While she was exhausted, yes, Fleur felt entirely capable of walking down the stairs and sitting at a table.

"Your mother insisted. Eat up, you need your strength to sleep."

"My mother is overreacting," Fleur sighed. "Can I at least eat at my desk?"

"Your mother said the bed," Hermione stated plainly. "And she was surprisingly very clear and insistent on this fact."

Fleur arched her eyebrow in response.

"I am not about to go against your mother, Fleur."

"Mais the crumbs! You must consider the crumbs, Hermione," Fleur pleaded. Crumbs would inevitably be in her (in their) bed and the idea of sleeping on her food was mildly revolting. But the thought of Hermione also sleeping on Fleur's food? It was enough to make her shudder and cringe inwardly. Positively revolting.

Hermione's only reaction was to shrug again. She knew Fleur had already given up, knowing it was useless to argue with her mother or Hermione, especially as this was something they both seemed united on. Fleur picked up her fork and took a small, careful bite of food. She had not felt the pangs of hunger until her first bite of food and then she realized that she was famished. She held back the urge to eat quickly. It would only ensure more crumbs in the bed.

"Eating in bed just means that I don't have to share you with your family tonight," Hermione smiled. "We can wipe the crumbs off after if you really are determined to be that messy of an eater."

"I am an immaculate eater. However, there is gravity. And cross winds." Fleur grumbled. (And shaky, exhausted hands.)

"Cross winds?" Hermione questioned with a hint of amusement. She tossed a glance to the window, which was firmly shut.

"Cross winds." Fleur repeated. "Crumbs are persistent and not to be trusted in bed." Fleur furrowed her eyebrow before taking another careful bite. "Have you eaten already?" It seemed smart to change the subject and she had just noticed that there was only one tray of food.

"A few hours ago," Hermione laughed. "It's nearly ten o'clock, Fleur. We were going to wait until you woke up on your own but, well, considering… your mother thought it would be best if you ate something."

"Is Gabu outside?" Fleur looked at the door, part of her hopeful, almost nostalgic for a routine she always despised. This time, she would ask Gabrielle to enter. She was not as scared (or as ashamed) as she once was.

"Doubtful. She's in her room practicing, as she has been for the last hour or so."

Fleur paused, fork in midair between the tray and her mouth, trying to catch some sign of her sister practicing. "I cannot hear anything and I highly doubt that even I could sleep through the melodic din of my sister."

"You wouldn't hear her. I taught her a simple silencing spell," Hermione remarked casually, her hand idly playing with the hem of Fleur's shirt.

For a moment Fleur only stared, amazed, at Hermione. But in her exhaustion, Fleur's amazement did not translate across her face.

"This way she can practice all she wants without disturbing anyone." Hermione furrowed her brow, slightly confused and defensive.

Fleur put her fork down and smiled widely. She knew there was a reason she loved Hermione. "You are an absolutely amazing woman, Hermione Granger. Truly."

Hermione blushed. "It was as easy five minutes. Your sister is a quick learner. Besides, I enjoy spending time with her." Embarrassed, she shifted her conversation back to Fleur. "Now eat up. Your mother is positively worried and I have to report back in ten minutes. And if you haven't taken your potion by then, you're going to have to find a new girlfriend because your mother might kill me."

"My mother is not about to murder you and I refuse to take that wretched potion a third time today. No. I absolutely will not, cannot. I am merely exhausted, that is all," Fleur groaned, trying to not sound like she was whining. She wanted to have finality in her tone but all that came across was fatigue. "I will eat my dinner in my room and get crumbs all over my bed, fine. However, I put my foot down on this matter. All I require is sleep." (A lot of sleep.)

"Your mother said you would say something along those lines." Hermione noted. It seemed while she was asleep Apolline had trained Hermione to take Fleur's words with a grain of disbelieving salt when she spoke about her condition. Which was probably good (if not annoying) advice. Fleur had a tendency to (often vastly) understate her health difficulties.

"She's a smart woman who knows her daughter well," Fleur observed before picking her fork back up again, trying to hold back a grumble.

"And she said if that was the case then you will have to agree to bed rest all day tomorrow as well, and maybe the day after depending. Your choice." Hermione lay back on the bed against her pillow as she spoke.

Fleur momentarily closed her eyes in frustration.

"I'm only the messenger." A pause. "Is your potion really that awful? I saw your face when you took it and… I mean, after so many years, wouldn't you start to get used to it?"

Fleur paused, half her mind occupied with weighing the options. "The potion is…" Fleur sighed. "It is like coming face to face with all of one's weakness and loneliness, I suppose is one way to describe it. And it somehow manages to be both chalky and acidic. I cannot quite grasp how, but it does."

"But you're not alone anymore. You have me," Hermione responded, her voice soft and loving, but her face worried. She placed her hand on Fleur's knee.

"Which is why I do not need to take the potion a third time today," Fleur smiled, but shakily. But the fact that she misjudged, underestimated the state of her health was nagging on the back of her mind. "I am sure I could find some way to keep myself amused in bed with your help. Though, I suppose, I would not be a very good hostess or girlfriend if I stayed in bed, non? Perhaps I should have the potion after all. To be safe."

"No, I think we can find ways to amuse ourselves for another day." Hermione blushed slightly and looked down. "I have some homework to do. Would it be considered cheating if I wrote your essay in your bed?" Hermione mused.

"I do not know. It is up to Dumbledore," Fleur spoke plainly after careful consideration. "Though I am sure he will not mind. It is not as if you will be requesting my help on the matter and I will surely be asleep for most of the day tomorrow. I could owl him and ask, though, if you think that is for the best."

"Is this truly a matter for Dumbledore?"

"When I first came to Hogwarts, we decided it would be best if Dumbledore graded your work. I am unfortunately not the most… impartial and neutral of individuals when it comes to you." Fleur confessed. "And we did not want people thinking I bestowed upon you any unfair advantage if our relationship ever got out."

"So I shouldn't write you a love letter in the appendix of my next paper?" Hermione paused for a moment, fully letting this new information soak in. If there was a more serious response, Hermione tactfully decided to bring it up later.

"I only ask you to keep in mind that Dumbledore will also read it."

* * *

Despite promises, Apolline insisted that Fleur stay in bed for two days. Fleur was not one to argue. She was (quietly but thoroughly) shaken by her exhaustion. So for the next two days, she took her potion when told, though complained as much as before so as to seem unworried. It was not until the twenty-eighth when she was allowed to leave her bed for any extended period of time.

After lunch, however, Fleur found herself back in bed with Hermione. It had become a habit over the past few days. Instead of sleeping (the exhaustion still clinging to the corners, the edges of her) Fleur worked on some upcoming lesson plans while Hermione lay next to her finishing a rather difficult essay on the finer intricacies of substitutions in healing potions. Hermione shifted slightly, moving closer into Fleur's body. Fleur smiled quietly to herself, closing her eyes for a second to fully enjoy her lover's smell. It was a very distinctive smell, a scent she had not come across before. She had asked Hermione about it earlier and discovered that it was a muggle shampoo. Fleur couldn't remember the strange, outlandishly crazy name it had, but she loved the smell and secretly hoped Hermione would never change shampoos.

Fleur leaned in closer and kissed Hermione softly on the shoulder where her sleeve was beginning to slip off. As she did, she closed her eyes, once again letting the scent of her lover envelope her.

Hermione turned slowly to Fleur, looking at her, almost examining her, for a moment. "The sealing… how does it happen exactly? I mean I understand that I say yes, confusing as that is. But there is more to it than that and I know you know the answer."

While what Hermione asked was not unexpected (actually quite the contrary), it caught Fleur off guard. Since their last talk, there had been no mention of anything serious between them. It wasn't that they were avoiding it exactly, but they were exhausted, and had other things to talk about, think about while they both silently processed their conversation in front of the ocean. They both needed time. Fleur was the first to admit, however, that there was still a lot that still needed to be said. And while it felt like she had a lot of time left to say it, she was becoming more doubtful of how much time she actually had. Even so, she had been scared to bring up what she had left unsaid earlier.

Before Fleur answered Hermione, she pushed aside what she was doing, intending to put her fully attention on the matter. "There is a step that we must take before we are sealed."

"What is it?" Hermione almost seemed exasperated. Yet another thing that Fleur hadn't told her yet?

"You have to tell your parents," Fleur spoke softly, almost shyly. Hermione's tone had made her shrink away, on a topic that already made her insecure. "It is not mandatory, but … considering the circumstances."

"Oh," Hermione nodded, slowly, almost dumbly, looking a little downcast.

"I just mean that when we become sealed," it was no longer an if, but a when in Fleur's mind (dangerous), "it is a serious commitment" (to put it lightly) "and—"

"Fleur, I know." Hermione tried to hide her building frustration.

"And I would like to meet your parents and let them know about us" (all about us) "before it happens. It only seems right," Fleur finished her original thought. "Proper, really. I cannot disrespect your parents and go behind their backs and keep this, us, secret if we are to become serious enough to become sealed, Hermione."

"I want to tell them, Fleur, I do," Hermione looked at her lover, almost apologizing. "It's just that…"

"I know you do and I trust you will. When the time is right. That is how we have to do everything. When the time is right." Fleur reached out and covered Hermione's hand in hers. "I might sound akin to a broken record, however I truly do not want to rush you."

* * *

New Years Eve was a quiet affair within the Delacour family. Christmas was the preferred holiday. After lunch, Fleur and Hermione took a walk along the ocean with Gabrielle. The walk began with Gabrielle's stern lecture about how it would be entirely inappropriate and quite rude if they were 'gross' since there was a minor present. And so the two lovers had to be content to walk hand in hand, swinging arms, and stealing kisses when Gabrielle's back was turned.

The three walked mostly in silence. As the New Year approached, so did the end of their vacation. In a few days, Fleur and Hermione would be returning to Hogwarts ahead of the rest of the student body. Fleur had lessons she needed to prepare for and faculty meetings to attend. Since Christmas, the two sisters and Hermione had become nearly inseparable and were not looking forward to parting. On top of that, Fleur and Hermione had become happily accustomed being a couple and dreaded having to quickly relearn how to pretend to be merely a professor and student to each other again. Afraid to voice these thoughts and fears out loud and by doing so making them more real, they all walked in silence.

Gabrielle ran up ahead. She stopped abruptly and stared avidly into the ocean, as if desperately searching for something out there in the waves. Then, after a moment, she bent down and threw a rock into the ocean, smiling at the satisfying splash.

"I wish I could skip a stone across the ocean," Gabrielle mused out loud when the others joined her. By this point, she had bent down and was sorting through the stones and pebbles on the ground. "There has to be some sort of spell or charm or something to make the water still."

"The ocean can never be a lake or a pond, Gabu," Fleur shook her head. "To try to make it still enough to skip stones across… that is changing the essence of the ocean, rendering it into something it is not. I imagine it goes against nature." She finished her sentence with a hint of sadness, her mind returning to her own predicament. How could she and Hermione, back at Hogwarts, be anything but lovers?

"Then I wish we lived closer to a pond as well," Gabrielle frowned slightly as she stood up with a handful of stones that met her approval. She threw one into the waves. "Still, the splash is satisfying in itself."

For a moment, the two lovers watched the younger girl throw rocks into the sea before bending down, selecting their own stones, and joining in. There was no reason behind it, but it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was a calming, distracting activity.

After a while, Gabrielle turned to Hermione. "What is the word the English use for the sound of rock splashing into the waves?"

Hermione paused for a moment, weighing a good-sized stone in her hand. "Splunk, kasplunk. Plunk perhaps. And sometimes just splash. Why?"

"Because I think that would be my favorite English word," Gabrielle offered casually.

They continued to throw rocks into the waves until they had run out of rocks and Fleur was showing signs of tiring.

* * *

Philippe arrived at the house a little before dinner and insisted that Fleur and Hermione join him and Gwen for a night out on the town. They stood in the kitchen and Apolline kept finding excuses to come in briefly before immediately exiting.

"I would love to, truly, but I cannot. I am too exhausted," Fleur shook her head.

"Do not fool yourself. We do not have some grand, epic adventure planned. I promise to return you and your beautiful brunette before curfew and someone turns into a pumpkin, most likely me." He paused, his glittering smile coming out in full force. "And I am not taking no for an answer. It will be a quiet night out. We are all leaving soon and I would like to see you before that happens."

And that is how Fleur and Hermione found themselves in a fairly crowded bar with Philippe and Gwen later that evening.

"And then, do you remember what Mademoiselle Hurer said?" Philippe asked, nearly in tears from laughing so hard. "She said—"

Both Fleur and Philippe, uncontrollable with laughter, said something in near unison that neither Hermione nor Gwen could make out. Gwen and Hermione just looked at each other and shrugged. It felt like several minutes before the two cousins recovered from the laughter.

"Fleur, I remember reading an interview with you in it about the tournament a few years ago. It read as if you had an extremely thick accent and not a strong command of the English language. I had to admit that I was worried before meeting you. My French is not the best. But hearing you speak now you are absolutely fluent and comfortable with the language," Gwen spoke up after a few moments when the cousins had clearly calmed down.

"The accent was slightly dramatized for the tournament," Fleur responded after a moment, almost sheepishly. "I do not know why I did it exactly, it just seemed best to keep some things… hidden. As a competitor, I find it is often preferred to be underestimated that overestimated, hm?"

"Oh, I nearly forgot how thick your accent was when we first met," Hermione shook her head. "Didn't you say you were going eemprove your English when you said goodbye that year?"

Fleur shrugged. "Do you miss the heavy French accent?"

"Not really." A pause. "A little, I suppose. The French accent can be kind of attractive. But at the time, I guess I found it a little annoying."

"Or all of me, rather," Fleur teased. "Always scowling."

"I will never live that down, will I?" Hermione groaned.

Fleur tipped her head to the side, as if seriously contemplating Hermione's question. Then she smiled and shook her head. "I imagine not, no."

* * *

They had only meant to stay out for an hour or so, but before they knew it, it was almost midnight. Suddenly realizing the time, Gwen politely stood up, excused herself and disapparated out of the tavern.

"Where did she go, it's almost midnight," Fleur asked after Gwen had gone.

"It is almost midnight. There is someone she wants to be with," Philippe remarked casually.

"Who?"

"The right person to have the first kiss of the New Year with," Philippe replied after a moment, crossing his legs.

"What do you mean?" Fleur furrowed her brow in confusion. "Wait. Philippe, all that stress you caused and she's only a friend?"

Philippe shrugged, stealing a look at his pocket watch. "She has to keep her relationship secret for now, so they unfortunately could not spend the holiday together. I invited her here so she would not have to be alone, and Mother made her assumptions. And after all that worrying and stress, it did not seem fair to correct her. I doubt they would have believed the truth anyway."

"Philippe!" Fleur just shook her head. "I just do not understand you sometimes."

"She is a good friend. I could not let her spend the holiday alone. It's starting to be really hard on her, her relationship being a secret."

"I know something about that," Hermione mumbled glumly.

* * *

Fleur never had a New Year kiss before. But despite her lack of comparison, she was sure her first would be hard to top (though she imagined that Hermione would be up for the challenge, hoped and prayed that she'd be around to do so). But it also made her sad. Kissing in public, holding hands in public. These were all things that she would have to say goodbye to for a while.

* * *

Exhausted, back at home and warmly in bed, Hermione seemed to hold onto Fleur extra tightly. Fleur quietly held her, rubbing her back, kissing her softly on the forehead. She was too afraid to ask what was wrong; she knew what the answer was already. For a while Hermione seemed like she did not want to put it into words. Finally, though, it had to be addressed.

"I'm scared," Hermione whispered, almost more to the darkness than Fleur.

"Scared, of what?"

"I mean, everything is different now. I don't know what to expect when we go back. I've gotten so used to us. I don't think I can be happy to just pretend to be your student, to not hold your hand, to not kiss you when I see you… but it's something we have to do, isn't it?"

For what felt like a long time, Fleur was silent. "No, I do not think that I can be content with that either. However, for now I cannot think of another solution. I believe that our relationship is a, well… an open secret within the student body, I am afraid. But a secret, just the same. I am not sure what would happen if we were to fully become public."

"It really can't be more than that, though," Hermione sighed. "It's so frustrating."

"We will figure something out, I am sure. Your Christmas present to me will be perfect for that, I imagine," Fleur tried to cheer her lover up, remembering the charmed parchment that would allow them to communicate back in forth secretly.

"I just… it's so, I don't know, aggravating. Part of me wishes that we wouldn't have to hide and just be out in the open, and another part of hates the fact that people know enough to be suspicious of us."

"Kissing you in the hallway was not the most subtle or appropriate move to woo your affections, I must admit."

"No, probably not." Even through the darkness, Fleur could see Hermione frown. Or at least imagine in, her it in her voice.

"However, it worked well in the end," Fleur grinned to herself, trying to lighten up the conversation.

"Barely," Hermione rolled her eyes, but her tone seemed lighter than a moment before.

"Barely? Barely? Do not question my skills of seduction while in my bed, Mademoiselle Granger."

"I prefer Hermione," Hermione's voice seemed smaller again. "But I guess I'll have to get used to Mademoiselle Granger again, won't I?"


	25. Bittersweet

When Fleur and Hermione apparated into Hogsmeade, it had been hours since they had eaten lunch. And hours since Fleur's last potion. They had intended on leaving earlier, but leaving always takes longer than one expects. And Fleur was the first to admit that she was not the quickest nor the most efficient packer. And then there were the goodbyes. Fleur would rather not think about the goodbyes. The goodbyes she just had less than a minute ago, but it seemed like years since she last saw them. Another lifetime still fresh on her skin, her mind. Tears lingered shyly, determinedly in her eyes. She missed her parents and Gabrielle greatly already. Always.

When Fleur and Hermione apparated into Hogsmeade, Fleur knew instantly that they were, in a sense, no longer in a land she felt fully at ease in. She knew intellectually, physically, emotionally where she was—and it was no longer France. It was not her home. It smelled damper, and more oppressive. Somehow. Like it was going to rain at any moment. And she never remembered to own, let alone use, an umbrella. With a quiet sigh, she tightened her hold, her grip on Hermione's hand and gave her young lover a (hopefully) reassuring smile. As if to say we're home and I'm not that depressed about it. 

By the time they reached Fleur's cabin, Fleur was overwhelmed with the sensation of both being home again (or at least a place comfortably familiar) and being far from it. And exhaustion. Oh the exhaustion that now never seemed to completely leave her bones since Christmas.

Plopped on the couch with a glass of water in (a shaking, trembling) hand, Fleur felt a new wave of strength return to her. It was strange being back after so long. It was hard to describe, to explain, to experience. Hermione sat next to her and for a while they just sat there, together, leaning into each other.

At first, they did not know what do to. Fleur had meetings to attend over the few next days, but she had prepared for them during her bed rest. And Hermione, Hermione had homework. But she had completed most of it while Fleur was in bed. There was still work to be done for both of them, but at that moment? In that moment they had nothing they needed to do, and no will to do it. So they wandered aimlessly around, Fleur pretending to tidy an already clean house, Hermione pretending to help. It was a game for and with each other. Both playing, afraid to lose and afraid to realize that it was just a game. They did not say much, but every once in a while they would pause, catch each other's eyes, and smile.

It was dark outside when Fleur finally verbally acknowledged the feeling sticking to both her and Hermione's skin. "It feels strange to be back." She laughed a little self-consciously.

"Like we've been gone for years," Hermione nodded.

"I suppose we should eat something. It is beginning to become dark," Fleur suggested after a moment. When was the last time they ate? Hours ago. It felt like weeks ago, like France was another lifetime and this one hadn't started quite yet.

Hermione placed a hand to her stomach. "You know, I am kind of hungry." She spoke as if it had suddenly just occurred to her, an epiphany of hunger.

The two ventured into the kitchen and Fleur went about opening cupboards at random, careful to not open a specific one cupboard, and then went through them with a more determined purpose. After a moment, she sighed, defeated. "I was on the verge of suggesting that I make crepes again, come full circle. However it appears as if I literally have no food left in the house. I suppose we shall have to dine out. Or starve."

Hermione smiled, moving closer, moving into Fleur, her fingers tugging lightly at the fabric that hugged Fleur's hips. "I'd like that. The former, the latter option sounds unpleasant." She spoke in between butterfly kisses. No Gabrielle to walk in and groan. No parents to walk in with that mixture of anticipation, expectation, and protectiveness over Fleur. Just them. Alone. Satisfying (and bittersweet).

"I must agree," Fleur grinned, moving closer to her lover and cupping Hermione's face with her hands. She lingered in that position, only inches from her lover's face, for only a moment before moving in. As the unknowing quality of Hermione's lips had all but slipped away unnoticed, Fleur felt herself becoming an aficionado of the softness and the hunger that was to be found there. In knowing Hermione's lips, Fleur found herself only more captivated by them. By her. When they finally pulled apart, there was a bittersweet smile on Hermione's face.

"Maybe we shouldn't." Pause. "Go out to eat, I mean. What if someone sees us?"

Fleur bit her lip, resting her forehead against Hermione's, before sighing. "Hogwarts does not start back up until next week. No one is back besides the professors." As Fleur spoke, she closed her eyes.

"And the students who live in Hogsmeade."

"We need to eat," Fleur stated simply. "I will pretend in the hallways at school, yes, and in the classrooms. Because we have to. But I do not want to now, no, not until I have to. I will not hide in my own house away from the world just so that… We have to eat. We need to. And I promise to be on my best behavior."

"I won't. I can't make that promise." A beat. A smirk turned to a frown. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

In a week, the students would return, the classes would start again, and everything would go back to "normal." (Topsy-turvy.) Despite this (because of this), Fleur and Hermione spent each hour further engraining habits that would soon have to be summarily (temporarily) forgotten. Ignored. Relearned. Reworked. Hidden.

Fleur spent her mornings back on campus attending staff meetings and preparing her classroom for the first week of her final term as a teacher. In the afternoons, she returned home earlier than most professors and citing exhaustion if pressed. Her condition was an open secret amongst the staff. Her condition. Her sexual orientation. Her "inappropriate relationship." All open secrets. Hermione currently residing at Fleur's house, however, was not. Could not. While Fleur was on campus, Hermione stayed home reading, doing homework. Researching. If she wanted or needed a book, she asked Fleur to pick it up from the library for her and Fleur would bring it home each afternoon without fail.

While in France, the two lovers developed a ritual of a daily walk, something they continued back in England. The grounds at Hogwarts were vast and seemingly more spacious without the majority of the student body. Despite this however, their walks were shorter in England and closer to home. Fleur no longer felt comfortable pushing her physical limits. Hermione did not want to be seen, to be caught by the few remaining students who were as free to explore and wander as they were. A few times Fleur tried to coax Hermione back into Hogsmeade, into longer walks, but she soon gave up. After the first night when it was a necessity, Hermione aired on the side of caution and refused. It was probably the smarter decision, but where was Fleur's brave lion?

* * *

The students would be returning on Sunday. On Saturday Fleur returned home from a particularly excruciating faculty meeting. The only thing preventing her from poking her own eye out with her wand was the thought of returning home to Hermione the minute the meeting was over. If she could run home, she would. But she didn't dare run anymore. So when the meeting ended, she walked quickly. Briskly. Refusing to stop to catch her breath until she was standing, panting, gasping outside her own door winded.

But as she walked quickly, she told herself that she wasn't pushing her limits but staying in shape. Being sick and exhausted was no reason to just lie down all the time. (Was it?) And as she walked quickly, she could not help but smile, no matter how bleak tomorrow looked. Smile at how the snow sat perched on the branches. Smile at the squeaking noise of the fresh snow beneath her weather inappropriate footwear—a sound she normally despised. Part of her felt like twirling, like spinning. Time would move on, there was nothing she could do to stop it. But tonight she was making dinner for the woman she loved. Tonight she was going to fall asleep in her arms. In the morning, she would still be there and they would eat breakfast together. And at that moment, they all felt like perfect reasons to smile. She would worry about tomorrow in the morning. Over breakfast with her lover. Or perhaps after. After would be nice. (Never would be better.)

Fleur found Hermione on the couch in the parlor. The fire was crackling and the faint scent of wood smoke felt like home. The brunette craned her body over a particularly large and old text. It appeared to be one of the ones that Fleur had taken out of the library only the day before, but the cover was a different color than she remembered. Her brow was furrowed in an unbelievably cute and endearing manner. So enwrapped in her book, Hermione didn't seem to notice Fleur enter. Without a moment's hesitation, Fleur maneuvered her body in such a way that she was lying on Hermione's lap blocking view of the book. Hermione jumped slightly, her breath catching in surprise.

"If you weren't so gorgeous, I'd be irritated that you startled me and made me lose my place," Hermione sighed playfully, unable to hide the large grin on her face.

Fleur simply grinned, stretching her arms out like cat and shifting into a more comfortable position that was also inherently, but inadvertently (mostly) extremely sexy. Books, apparently, did not make good beds. Her girlfriend's lap, however, was a different matter entirely.

"Fleur, sometimes you are positively feline," Hermione shook her head. "Please move."

"Move?" Fleur frowned before quickly adopting an innocent, naïve expression as if move was the one word in the English language that she did not understand.

"My body doesn't bend in the right way to allow me to kiss you when you are lying on my lap like that. So yes. Move."

"I suppose that could be remedied," Fleur grinned, once again shifting her body so that she was leaning up against the arm of the couch and sitting up just enough for Hermione to lean in and softly capture her lips for a short kiss.

"Miss me?" Fleur grinned, playing with the collar of Hermione's shirt.

"Unbelievably," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Had to lose myself in work to survive the whole two hours without you."

"Someone's sassy today," Fleur arched her eyebrow. "Well, I missed you. The meeting today was absolutely dismal. I do not even want to reiterate the boring subjects we discussed for fear you would leave me for a more fascinating female on the merits of the retelling alone."

"I would never do that," Hermione shook her head solemnly, quietly. Shyly.

"It is because you have not been a victim to the retelling," Fleur looked down, fully aware of the redness of her cheeks, the wideness of her smile.

Hermione pushed the book (carefully, gently) out from underneath Fleur and placed it on the floor as Fleur spoke. For a moment it looked like Hermione was about to say something more, something else but then she simply smiled and captured Fleur's lips. Lying there on Hermione's lap, in Hermione's arms Fleur felt like she was actually melting. She ran her hands hungrily through Hermione's hair as the brunette deepened the kiss. Hands roamed and Fleur could not hold back moaning into her lover's mouth. Something had changed in their physical interactions as of late. Fleur could not quite pinpoint when but somehow the wall seemed to be breaking on both, on all sides. Hungrier. Needier. Deeper. If sex wasn't an issue before (and sex is always an issue), it was certainly going to become a major one soon.

For the need of air, for the need of holding onto the last thread of restraint in her, Fleur finally forced herself to pull away. She was breathing heavily, and she closed her eyes momentarily. Her hand reached out, in an effort to steady herself, and played with the necklace she had given Hermione. Hermione had been wearing it every day since she got it, not even taking it off to sleep. Perhaps to bathe, but Fleur had never seen her without it since Christmas. And Fleur had to admit that it looked wonderful on Hermione—as if in some way it had been made for her. In some sense, it had.

"I wish I understood it more," Hermione spoke, almost in a whisper, after a moment.

"Understand what more?" Fleur looked up, her fingers still running over the charm.

"The necklace," Hermione replied simply. "I mean, there has to be more to it than what you're telling me."

"Well, what have you observed?" Fleur leaned back for a moment, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss Hermione once again.

"It's connected to you, I can feel it. When you weren't doing so well, the color changed to fainter, more opaque, colder almost… and as you got better, it started to shine more. But I cannot help but think that there is more to it than that," Hermione made eye contact with Fleur. "Your family… they all stared at it when they saw it. It means something, doesn't it?"

"It is connected to me, yes. But there is potential… there is a time when it will not merely be connected to me, but to us," Fleur spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. She wanted Hermione to figure it out on her own. But knowing Hermione, she had and was just confirming her own observations and realizations.

Hermione brushed a strand of hair out of Fleur's face, as if to gain clarity through that gesture. "What do you mean?" But the wheels, the cogs in Hermione's mind were working and Fleur found no reason to interrupt. "It—this is connected to us being sealed, isn't it?"

"That is one way to put it, yes," Fleur let the necklace drop from between her fingertips. It swung for a second before resting against Hermione's sternum.

"It shows your… state of being because you are sealed to me. But since the sealing hasn't been finished yet, it only shows you. Am I right?"

"That is what I am told by my grandmother, yes," Fleur nodded.

"How does it do that exactly?" Hermione picked up the necklace and held it up, examining it for a moment.

Fleur merely shrugged. "Magic, one supposes."

Hermione looked down, her face showing a surprisingly level of determination. And suddenly the conversation seemed to suddenly shift. "I am going to tell them, you know. Soon. I will. I promise."

"I trust you." (Patience in all things. Patience in one thing. Always.)

* * *

Dinner was not one of Fleur's better culinary masterpieces. In fact, masterpiece could only be used jokingly. She had accidentally fainted while cooking. While convinced she was not out for long, the resulting disorientation nearly caused her to nearly burn half the dinner. (Thankfully Hermione was in the other room reading at the time and didn't seem to notice anything.) While dinner was still edible, it was nowhere near as delicious as Fleur had planned. And Fleur tried to hide how shaken up the whole experience left her feeling.

After a moment of comfortable silence and chewing, Hermione spoke, trying to sound optimistic, "I think it will be good to start the term again and see some of my friends again. It feels like months since I've seen them. I mean Lavender and Pavarti are good with writing. And Ginny, I suppose, to some extent. But Ron and Harry are positively wretched."

"I was on the verge of asking how the boys were, but I suppose that would be useless," Fleur smiled, not quite sure how to respond to that. Now that they were having dinner, tomorrow seemed all that much more closer. It would be good, Fleur knew, for Hermione to see her friends. Fleur just wished it wasn't in an environment where they would have to hide.

"Well, maybe you can see for yourself," Hermione shrugged.

"I do have you all on Tuesday, if I may remind you. I hope your essay is complete, by the way," she added teasingly.

"No, I mean before that."

"Before that? Like in the hallway?" Fleur looked up from her plate, suddenly feeling quite dense.

"Or here," Hermione said after a moment, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Here, as in my house?"

"I thought we could invite them over." Hermione seemed suddenly nervous. "I mean we don't have to hide from everyone. They already know and I think it would be good for them to actually see us as a couple and less like… well, the rumors I'm sure they hear. I mean, Lavender, Parv and Ginny have all seen us to some extent, but they haven't." She looked up, catching Fleur's eye. "It doesn't have to be here-here, but just some place where we can be us. I would really like that. To be a couple with my friends."

Seeing the expression on Hermione's face, there was no way for Fleur to say no. Not that she wanted to. It was a good idea, if not potentially quite awkward. They were her students, but then again so was Hermione. And didn't Hagrid spend time with them as well? (But that was kind of different, wasn't it?) "I think I would like that very much."

"Really?" Hermione seemed stunned, as if she had expected having to fight more. "You mean it?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I think it is a wonderful idea. When should we invite them over?"

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Hermione asked with barely a moment's hesitation.

"Perfect." So soon?

And then there was a pause where Hermione looked both victorious and guilty.

"Hermione, what?"

"It's just good you agreed because I already invited them and they said yes…" Hermione added sheepishly, looking into her plate as she spoke.

"Hermione! What, do I dare ask, would you have done if I was an unreasonable girlfriend and said no?"

"Plan B entailed me kissing you until you said yes," Hermione shrugged weakly.

"Hermione…" Fleur buried her head in her hand. "Just because I love you does not mean that I will cave into you every time you kiss me."

"But a girl can try, can't she?"

* * *

Sunday afternoon. Hermione sprawled across the couch finishing up her homework. Last minute details and such. Fleur sat across from her lover in her father's armchair. On her lap sat a book that she had picked up earlier that day. She had barely touched it however, her eyes preferring to be mesmerized by the fire as she stole glances at Hermione.

They did not know exactly when to expect the boys. Hermione had given them detailed directions. Hermione and Fleur assumed they would be arriving somewhat late in the day, after getting off the train and settling in for a bit. There would be time before they showed up. It was just after lunch.

And so Fleur stood up, gently closing her book, marking her page and laying it carefully on the chair. As she crossed the room, she was aware that Hermione was watching her through lidded eyes pretending to continue to read. But Fleur knew better. Smiling to herself, Fleur lowered herself down onto the couch, on top of Hermione. Carefully. Without a word, she plucked the book from Hermione's hand. She flipped the book over and read the cover, mindful not to lose her girlfriend's place.

"This is not homework," Fleur observed. "Unless one of the professors has assigned reading on homosexuality in the Wizarding world, with an emphasis on the first war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"I never said it was," Hermione blushed slightly.

"A little extra-curricular research, hm?"

"Actually, yes," the brunette had recovered her blush. "I don't see any reason why knowing more about, well, about being gay is a bad thing."

Fleur placed the book down on the floor and kissed Hermione gently on the lips. "I do not believe saying anything to the contrary. Merely, I am not sure that this would be the most informative text on the matter." She frowned bit, having read the text herself. It was informative—but also entirely depressing, focusing on the prejudice and the hardship as opposed to the beauty and wonder.

"Unfortunately Hogwarts has a very limited selection of texts," Hermione shrugged, slightly defensive. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

Fleur tipped her head to the side, as if lost in thought, before returning to Hermione with a playful grin. "My Lips by F. I. Delacour is apparently a fairly exhaustive, informative text. And less dry. Or so I have heard. I have never read it, myself." 

"Oh really?" Hermione arched an eyebrow, as if for a moment doubting Fleur's claim. "It sounds significantly less academic than my current book."

"Perhaps they speak to different aspects of the issue. Who is one to ponder and judge which is better?"

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to peruse," Hermione grinned before kissing Fleur softly. Tenderly, before it grew into something more. After a moment, Hermione pulled away. "Upon light research, I do find that book interesting."

"Experience, I have heard, is a marvelous teacher."

"Oh really?"

And then, as if to prove her point, but really it was because she could not handle the distance, could not control her need to taste her… So, as if to prove her point, Fleur leaned in and gently, hungrily captured Hermione's lips. Deeper. Hermione willingly opened to Fleur's hunger, matching fire with fire, with her own desperate need. Hands roamed to the soundtrack of moans and the rustling, less and less timid readjustments of clothes. Fleur could barely breath as Hermione took her breast in her hand, and through her shirt with her teeth. Instinctually, Fleur moved further into Hermione. Hips against hips, moving slowly, learning, acquiring a rhythm. It was reaching a new territory, farther than they had gone before. Fleur lay on top of Hermione gripping the couch with one hand as if it was the only thing that would keep her, settle her, hold her in check. Gripping the couch in a desperate effort to maintain the smallest smidgen of control that she still had left in her. Hermione held her tightly with one hand, unwilling, unable to let her go. The other hand exploring her breast underneath her bra as if discovering a new and exciting land for the first time. And as Fleur let out a particularly loud groan of pleasure, the doorbell rang.

At first, the two paused momentarily, poised and about to start again. They were hearing things. Moans could sound like doorbells, couldn't they? But then there was a knock. And the doorbell again. The two froze.

"Ron and Harry," Hermione breathed after a moment, almost laughing as she smiled. Of course.

Fleur cursed underneath her breath, closing her eyes, before quickly pulling herself off Hermione. Standing up, attempting to control her hormones that were playing on full volume, Fleur offered her hand to Hermione. "I…" Fleur looked down at herself. No this wouldn't, this couldn't do. "Can you answer the door?"

"It's your house, Fleur." Hermione looked almost confused if not slightly annoyed. (At the interruption.) "Don't you think that…"

"I can't answer the door, not like this. They're my students, Hermione."

"I'm just as flushed as you," Hermione protested as the doorbell rang again. "This is us being a couple. Couples do this."

"Yes, but you don't have your teeth marks…" Fleur did not need to finish her sentence. Hermione's eyes dropped to Fleur's shirt. Sure enough, telltale signs were more than obvious. In seven words, Fleur garnered her desired reactions: both the adorable blush on her lover's face and Hermione to concede to her point.

The doorbell rang again.

"Merlin, Ron can be impatient," Hermione groan.

"I will be down as soon as I find a more appropriate clothing option."

Hermione nodded, readjusting and shifting her clothes as she went toward the door.

When Fleur made her way back downstairs, she found the three Gryffindors seated in the parlor. Harry and Ron occupied the two armchairs and Hermione was on the couch with a seat open for Fleur. Fleur, skin less flushed and in a comfortable (but elegant) dark blue sweater, she entered the room (with a quiet inhaled breath for bravery). "Harry, Ron. How lovely to see you. Welcome to my home," Fleur smiled (winningly, she hoped) as she crossed into the room. "I hope that Hermione has helped you become comfortable in my absence."

She kissed Hermione on the forehead as a way of greeting—natural, second nature, a habit that could not survive publicly for many more hours. Hermione turned her head up slightly and smiled, before Fleur took her place next to her lover. Without even realizing it, their fingers were interlocked. Fleur sensed the two pairs of eyes on their hands, on their lips, on their comfortable body language. They looked like a happy couple. For some reason, this made Fleur self-conscious. She moved to let go of Hermione's hand, but Hermione would not let go. She needed this. This is what she wanted. So Fleur gave a reassuring, 'I understand' squeeze back. Hermione misread and began to separate her own hand from Fleur's, but Fleur held on tightly.

"I was just telling Hermione that Ginny says hello and says she's sorry she couldn't make it," Harry said after a moment. "She said maybe another time."

"Another time would be lovely," Fleur nodded and smiled. Another time? How many gatherings of Gryffindors at her home would there be? Many, Fleur realized, if Hermione wanted to be a couple in front of them. And Fleur found that she was fine with that. And with time, things were bound to be less awkward, right? "So tell me how your holiday was. I understand that you spent it together."

And so Harry, with interjections from Ron (who still seemed bent on impressing her, bless his soul), began to divulge on their holiday spent together. It was probably a much more tame version than the one they would relay in full to Hermione later. It was an awkward gathering—she was their professor, their best friend's girlfriend. They were her students, and she was not quite Hagrid to them.

As they spoke, Fleur found her eyes wandering. She was still listening, but she was struck by the strange sensation of seeing her home through their eyes. The family portraits were on their best behavior—Gabu not included of course. It wasn't until that moment that Fleur fully realized all the hints and traces of Hermione that now lay around her home. Books she wasn't planning to bring back to her dorm—her extracurricular research for the most part. A spare sweater she had forgotten to pack. Some quills, some parchment.

The four of them related stories of their holidays, exaggerated renditions of France and the Burrow, of their respective families. Molly Weasley was a formidable mother, an equal match to Apolline. Gabu was put to the bar with Fred and George. Quidditch was brought up. Briefly. Neither Fleur nor Hermione were that interested in the subject and the conversation could not sustain itself despite the interest of the two boys. They were desperately jealous that they had spent New Years with the captain of the Harpies. Ron desperately wanted to know if Fleur was going to announce another match this semester. Fleur (not so) regretfully informed that it had been a one-time deal. The conversation switched to the upcoming term, classes, N.E.W.T.S. Vague discussions of after Hogwarts plans, blurry and barely touched verbally. It was no longer December, when the future seemed a year away. In January, the time beyond Hogwarts was still hard to grasp, to conceptualize for the three students. And Fleur, having left Beauxbatons years ago, was in no place nor mood to patronize or lecture.

It was a conversation Fleur felt shaky about to be honest. It was not something she and Hermione had spoken about. When the future came up, it was usually in the context of the semester starting or the courtship ritual. Despite living in France for weeks, a world beyond the walls of Hogwarts was hard to conceptualize. But knowing Hermione, without even speaking about, Fleur was sure that was some inkling, some sprout of an idea, if not a fully formed one dwelling in the back of her mind waiting for the right moment to pop out. Fleur felt it best if she asked soon. But even the mere thought of it made her stomach quiver and turn upon itself, a shiver of hope that she tried to quell.

Hermione's bags were by the door. It was about to be dinnertime; they had to get going.

"Why don't you come, have dinner in the Great Hall," Hermione suggested hopefully but Fleur only shook her head.

"I think I am going to stay in tonight," she shrugged. "It is a long walk to make back by myself. And I would not really be able to eat with whom I truly desired to eat with, I imagine. No," Fleur sighed. "You should get back to your life at Hogwarts. I will see you tomorrow, oui?"

As Hermione and Fleur said their goodbyes, the boys respectfully gave the two lovers their distance. The awkwardness of the afternoon lingered but now it was traced with sadness. It was time.

"I am going to miss you, my dear Hermione," Fleur wore a bittersweet smile. After a moment of silence, she tucked a hair behind Hermione's ear. "I wonder how I will ever manage to sleep at night without you."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her feet, before forcing herself to look back up at Fleur.

"If I squint hard enough, I imagine, I can practically see your bedroom from here. Not that far at all, really," Fleur continued to force the smile on her face. She wanted to break down, plead, and ask Hermione to stay. Hermione would say yes. But no, not tonight. There were rules now. They had best observe them. (And on Hermione's face, it was scrawled across every feature that Hermione wanted her to ask. She wouldn't have to beg or plead, just ask. And Hermione would say yes.) "You act like we are being separated by much farther distances."

"But we are." Hermione stated plainly, sadly. "I don't want to sleep alone, I want to be able to kiss you when I see you—"

"Sssh," Fleur placed her finger delicately on Hermione's lips. "This is a temporary arrangement. I believe in us."

Hermione kissed the finger on her lips, sadness in her eyes.

Unable to find anything cheerful and optimistic to say, Fleur gently lifted Hermione's chin up with her index finger. For a moment they looked into each other eyes. They kissed, half aware that both Ron and Harry were probably watching. (And they were, blushing, coughing silently to themselves, pretending they weren't watching. Harry kicked the snow in front of him before motioning to Ron that they should start waling again.)

A couple of minutes later, bag in hand, Hermione raced up and joined them. Happy to see them, but with the strange feeling that she had left something behind. (The feeling would not go away for the rest of the night.) Fleur watched the full reunion of the three. But winter crept in past her through the doorway and wrapped around her in a lonely hug, threatening to stay, to sting and freeze the tears threatening in her eyes. So Fleur closed the door and turned around. She walked back through her house, past the remnants of Hermione, the whispers of where she was just sitting, standing. It struck Fleur just how much one can leave their mark on a place in such a short time. Hermione had only stayed there for a week, but it felt as if Fleur could barely remember a time when Hermione was not there. Every part of her house seemed touched, infused with some essence of her lover. Running a finger across a table felt in a way…

Classes started in the morning. Fleur headed upstairs to get some sleep. Alone for the first time in weeks. Pulling her sheets around her tighter than usual so she could smell the lingering scent of Hermione's shampoo, it was the closest she would get to Hermione that night.


	26. Transition

At times like this, Fleur longed for more strongly delineated endings and beginnings. Clearly demarcating the transitions and would patiently explain to her that this is where one moment stopped as another began. How was it possible for Fleur to fall asleep one night on winter holiday and wake up the next morning to the first day of a new term? To her, it was as disorientating as falling asleep in France and waking up in Japan (or England, for that matter). She needed more than a horrible night's sleep to mark this change.

If pressed, it was not as if Fleur knew exactly what she wanted, desired, (needed) to mark this (drastic, not so drastic) change, but she knew that there had to be something. Something more. An announcement by a change in weather perhaps or banners in the hallways. Pamphlets perhaps. Clearer warning signs. Better preparation. Something more civilized and less jarring than it just actually occurring. Just something more.

But come Monday morning, she entered her classroom with the same ease and grace as she did every morning. There was no other choice. No one could tell that Fleur felt anything less than absolutely prepared and comfortable. But they were there if one paid attention and knew how to look, the subtle hints of exhaustion creeping up more than ever upon her edges. It was a Delacour gift, the winning smile, the ability to not skip a (noticeable) beat. But underneath, she was no different from anyone else.

Behind the glow of the holiday, the benefits of a good night's sleep were a rarity at Hogwarts that morning. It wasn't exhaustion, overwork, or anxiety, but instead a simpler form of tiredness and restlessness on the students' faces. It was an adjustment to a different schedule and place, a different bed from what they were used to. For the students who had remained, it was the filling and sharing of spaces that had previously been empty and theirs alone. A restlessness to hear all the latest gossip, to see friends they had yet to catch up with.

In between third and fourth period as she waited for the second year Slytherins, Fleur wondered idly if her inability to sleep without Hermione the night before was something that would be so easily curable as adjusting to new patterns, new habits. That in a few nights she would be able to fall asleep just as easily as she now did with the warmth of her lover next to her. (Is this something she wanted to happen? And would she then have to re-learn how to sleep next to Hermione?) Exhaustion clung to her more readily, more easily seen than it had last term. Still not noticeable perhaps to the student body but further on its way to getting there. One sleepless night felt like a week. Soon it would be bound to show.

The night before she had tossed and turned as if trying to reinvent the agony of sleeplessness, as if there was something new to discover and learn between the tangles of her duvet. At one point, she had thrown her pillow across the room in frustration only to grumpily retrieve it a few minutes later. It was pointless to throw a temper tantrum with yourself.

So all Monday Fleur longed for better preparation for the new term. Not so much in schedules, plans, assignments, and demonstrations, but with a better night's sleep and a morning with Hermione.

It was torture seeing Hermione in the hallway and only being able to smile politely and walk past as if she was just another student. Where the previous term, the affects of her veela charms on students was hardly noticeable, a boring fact of life, they were now starting to shift into an annoyance for the Frenchwoman. Her admirers started to resemble gross parodies of the beauty that she shared with Hermione but was forced to hide.

And in this new term, Fleur turned her anticipation towards the end of the day with more vigor than before. After all her students had finally filed out of her classroom, it was that plan that Fleur would (politely) race to her office to find Hermione waiting there for her. It was their only set plan for the time being—the weekends had not yet been figured out. But there, behind the locked door of Fleur's office, they would be granted a few precious moments of privacy before making their way to the Hospital Wing.

On that painful first day, after Fleur had closed and locked the door behind her, before even speaking, their bodies moved hungrily into each other. And before speaking, before seemingly even breathing, the two lovers collided, held each other tightly as if it had been weeks, months, years, and not merely a night apart. (Oh, to be in love.) In that short minute, before they moved apart just enough to kiss, and in that short minute when they held each other it was enough just to feel each other's breath against their bodies. This is where I end, this is where you begin. Fleur tried to adjust her breathing rhythm to match Hermione's. It was something she had done countless times before and could never quite get it right. But it never stopped her from trying. The act in itself was calming.

And when they kissed?

And when they kissed, despite tender beginnings and the familiar hunger and want that clung in each and every embrace, there was a trace of a new edge of restraint that had not been there.

And when they kissed, despite the locked door, there was an unspoken fear that someone might discover them. This unspoken fear silently and subtly marred their kiss. It complicated everything further. (Where was Fleur's brave lion?)

"I didn't realize how hard it's going to be," Hermione said after a moment, breathing the words as she pressed her forehead against Fleur's. "I still don't believe that I do. Your side of the bed last night was so…" Hermione seemed to search for the word. "Empty and cold. And I don't know how long I can handle us walking past each other as if nothing matters, as if we don't matter. It hurts. I knew all this when we got back… but." Hermione shook her head slowly. The poor night's sleep hung more clearly over the lovers than most in the school. "I don't like this."

* * *

Back in the public eye, they took the long way to the Hospital Wing, choosing unpopular routes, unused and mostly forgotten hallways. Even so, they stood safely apart and did not touch. They kept their conversations safe—maintaining topics such as class, Defense Against the Dark Arts theory and practice of—all stimulating and exciting conversations to be had, but not the ones they wanted to be having. Only when they were in an area of Hogwarts they were sure no one else was did Hermione abruptly change the subject from their theoretical debate about counter curses.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"I do not have any grading as of yet so I was considering visiting Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks after dinner," Fleur answered after a moment. "I have not seen her since before we left for France and she sent an owl over earlier inviting me to visit."

"Oh." Hermione looked down and nodded.

"Why?" Fleur craned her neck so she could at Hermione as they walked.

"I just…" Hermione shrugged. "I wanted to come over, that's all."

Fleur stopped walking. "I was planning on visiting her after the dinner rush. Surely by the time you finished your homework and your Head Girl duties, I would be free." She spoke remembering the lateness of the hour when Hermione last visited her in night.

"It will be late by then. You need your sleep, Fleur. I would feel guilty keeping you up," Hermione looked down, afraid to say what both were thinking. A poor night's sleep was looking badly on Fleur. She had never really recovered fully from Christmas. It was if the full extent of Fleur's condition was now both their secret to hide from the school.

"You know I cannot sleep without you," Fleur spoke softly, nearly a whisper. The fear of being overheard forced her to speak quietly, the fear of being watched prevented her from reaching out and gently cupping her girlfriend's cheek.

"We both might have to learn to, at least for a little while," Hermione sighed after a moment. "I just don't want to have to sneak around so much. It's how we'll get caught."

"You do not have to spend the night, but I would love it if you came over," Fleur bit her lip before continuing on. They rounded the corner into a busier portion of the school and Fleur effortlessly started up the conversation that they had paused momentarily, bringing in a point made by a recent article on counter curses. Hermione joined in without skipping a beat.

* * *

Fleur's home was saturated with Hermione. Everywhere she looked, a book, a quill, a forgotten item of clothing. A memory. For the briefest of moments she thought about gathering all the physical pieces of Hermione together in one place. It would be easier then for her lover to find her belongings when she needed them. But in the end this was not something Fleur could or even wanted to do. She loved the idea of her home filled with Hermione, infused with the sense that at any moment she could turn the corner and there Hermione would be. It was oddly revitalizing, the sensation that Hermione lived there with her and had merely stepped out for a bit. Fleur preferred this delusion to the constant reminder that Hermione lived across the grounds where Fleur could never truly visit her. (Part of her spent hours idly wondering what Hermione's dorm room looked like. She had never seen a Hogwarts dorm. Were they allowed to decorate the walls? Were they messy or clean, how did they generally smell? How many books were scattered on the floor or neatly stored in piles?)

Waiting to head over to Rosmerta's, Fleur picked up a few of Hermione's books at random. Most of her schoolbooks Hermione had brought with her back to Gryffindor. Books of a more personal nature, however, Hermione had left behind, safe from the wandering eyes of classmates. It appeared as if Hermione had checked out every book in the library that had the briefest mention of homosexuality. And there was a fair amount of reading about enchantments and charmed objects. Fleur was sure that Hermione had at least a few (if not all) books out on veelas, however if she had, she kept them in her room. Or maybe she had read them all already. Hogwarts did not have the most extensive collection on veelas. No non-veela library did.

The first book Fleur picked up was all on the theory, practice, and regulation of port keys. It was entertaining for a moment to figure out why Hermione had such a book, but the material itself was rather dry and Fleur quickly put it down. She then leafed through a history book focusing on nineteenth century England, probably chosen for its two chapters on gay witches and wizards. Her eyes ran across the pages, but the sentences did not stick out to her and would not travel from the page into her mind. She scanned the pages half trying to figure out what information Hermione was gleaming from the text in front of her but soon decided it would be better to ask Hermione the next time they had a moment alone.

Being gay was never something Fleur had ever thought about much. Or rather, she assumed that if she were not part veela, it would be something she would think about more and in greater detail. In her mind, she was not gay and did not identify as a lesbian. She was in love with Hermione. It was different. (Was it?) Gay people preferred people of their own sex. Fleur merely preferred Hermione to everyone else. True, Hermione was female. But if Hermione suddenly woke up male one morning, it would not change the love and the attraction that Fleur felt for her. Fleur loved Hermione, the essence of her, what burned behind her eyes, her curiosity, her sense of justice. Yes, Hermione was breathtakingly beautiful. But Hermione would be beautiful male or female. The love Fleur felt for her girlfriend, it transcended the sex, the gender, the physical appearance of Hermione (though all those aspects strongly affected Hermione's identity and how the younger girl moved through the world, this too Fleur was aware of). But being gay was not something Fleur thought a lot about in regards to herself. She loved Hermione and that was that. And so she only thought of her sexual orientation in terms of how people perceived her, as a lesbian. But she was also a veela, a professor, a young French woman, a witch, a poor cook, and so many other things. There were countless ways to classify her, why worry about one?

But now, reading this book, Fleur found herself contemplating her lover's sexuality. Did Hermione consider herself a lesbian? What did that even mean? And was this something that they should talk about more? It was clearly something that interested Hermione. She was not the type to check books out of the library merely to have books. No, in terms of knowledge, while Hermione loved it in a general sense, there was usually a mission, a purpose to her research.

These thoughts accompanied Fleur all the way to the Three Broomsticks, making Fleur only dully aware of the biting frost. Like always, the warmth and the noise of the tavern greeted Fleur instantly upon opening the door. Rosmerta, busy with a customer, did not notice Fleur until she had sat down.

"Well, look what the cat drug in," Rosmerta grinned widely, wiping her hands on her apron as she moved over to engulf Fleur in a hearty hug. "So, stranger, how have you been?"

Fleur arrived at the tail end of the dinner rush. She occupied herself with a glass of red wine while she waited for Rosmerta to finish up. It seemed to Fleur that she spent many parts of her life waiting for people to leave so she could talk—patrons of the Three Broomsticks, her students, her colleagues (well, mostly just Snape). But that was probably just how life was for everyone. In about twenty minutes, the place had nearly cleared out. Rosmerta came over and leaned casually against the bar.

"So luv, I haven't seen you since last year," Rosmerta smiled teasingly as Fleur rolled her eyes at the new years jokes. They got old so quickly, but she couldn't quite find herself getting that annoyed when Rosmerta did it.

"Hilarious," Fleur shook her head.

(With some prodding from Rosmerta) Fleur set about divulging the details of her holiday with Hermione—keeping the personal parts private, but mentioning the fight on Christmas, the general gist of their conversation, the results on her health from that night. (She did not mention falling asleep while cooking dinner. For some reason, it was something she was determined to keep secret. No sense in making people worried over something they had no control over.) Rosmerta listened attentively, giving Fleur breaks to pause and sip her wine as she did periodical rounds of the near empty bar.

"What about you, how was your holiday?"

"Oh you know, nothing special," Rosmerta shook her head, and waved her hand as if to physically dismiss the subject. "This place keeps me busy year-round so I don't usually get much of a holiday. I have to keep this place sorted, you know? Dreary in comparison to a young, beautiful Frenchwoman in love. So tell me about this sealing. It won't happen until Hermione tells her parents?" By this point, the Three Broomsticks was nearly empty and Rosmerta had pulled up a chair next to Fleur. "But I thought it was finished when, you know… How does Hermione telling her parents enter in all of this?"

"The sealing is different from the courtship," Fleur explained slowly, patiently. Why couldn't it be this easy to explain to Hermione? (Because around Hermione every word mattered. Because Fleur was shy. Nervous. Rosmerta was Rosmerta, but Hermione was Hermione.) "Technically, Hermione… well, the sealing essentially when she completely in love with me. There is a little more to it than that, but I cannot allow the actual sealing to occur until she tells her parents."

"Why?" Rosmerta did nothing to hide her confusion on her face. "Hermione coming out her parents doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, if you don't mind me saying so."

"It does not seem right to me. Not… well, gentlemanly. Being sealed is the veela form of engagement. I cannot imagine an engagement without the parents knowledge let alone consent."

"Under normal circumstances, I would understand that, luv. But you have to admit that your circumstances aren't normal."

"Are not normal? You mean because I am her professor, that I am part veela and she is a muggle-born wizard, or that we're both women?" For some reason, the lack of normalcy of her relationship was beginning to wear on Fleur.

"The whole bit, Fleur. It's not just a matter of Hermione telling her parents that she's in a serious relationship, or even that it is with her professor. She has to tell her parents that she's gay. That's no small matter. When a parent raises a child, they have this image of their child. And coming out kind of disrupts this image, it has to be reformatted. Sometimes it can be very traumatic." Rosmerta, began to gesture as she talked. "For some parents, no matter how much they love their child, it's simply not possible to do so. Or it takes a lot of time. And time is not something, if you don't mind me saying, you have a lot of. You don't look well, Fleur. Maybe in your particular situation, the formalities do not have to be observed. After all, Hermione is an adult."

Fleur ran Rosmerta's words over her mind as she took a slow sip of wine, closing her eyes slightly as if to fully absorb her friend's thoughts. The entire ramifications of being gay were not something that Fleur fully had to face. At least not in the terms of her family. At least not like Hermione. And she was in no condition to contest how well or not well she looked.

After a moment, she opened her mouth and spoke slowly. "Hermione is like me in that we both straddle two worlds. Veela, wizard, muggle...  Rules in all worlds have to be observed, tedious as it may be. In her parents' world, she is still a minor, a child."

"Your health is another such rule, Fleur. You need to stop being the perfect gentleman before you get yourself killed from observing all the niceties. You have to get this courtship ritual sorted." When Fleur groaned, Rosmerta sighed. "Or at least figure out some way to sleep. A potion, perhaps?"

"I'm too weak for a sleeping potion, I am afraid," Fleur whispered to her wine glass. It was hard to tell if Rosmerta overheard it.

* * *

Sleep remained elusive over the next couple days. And with each passing day, Fleur felt herself becoming increasingly irritated. She had always prided herself in her ability to remain calm and collected while in front of the classroom, or in most situations for that matter, but her grip on this control was something she knew she was losing. Quickly dwindling was her patience, her ability to smile and laugh things off. She needed sleep (Hermione), and needed sleep (Hermione) badly.

It was a strange sort of exhaustion. At some point in the week, Fleur began to feel more dehydrated than fatigued. It was a strange sensation, as if her tongue was swelling, fusing to the roof of her mouth. But no matter how much water she drank, the feeling would not go away. She tried eating, sucking on candy, chewing gum, but to no avail. Frustration seemed to radiate from within her teeth. But these were symptoms she felt so silly in explaining that she didn't bother telling Pomfry. Dry mouth, irritated teeth. She just needed sleep (Hermione).

On Thursday when Hermione walked Fleur to the Hospital Wing, Hermione broke their unwritten rule by reaching out and briefly touching Fleur's hand. It barely grazed past the back of Fleur's hand, but it was a deliberate, if not subtle, sign of affection.

"Fleur, you need to sleep," Hermione spoke softly.

Fleur squeezed her eyes shut, as if in that moment she could achieve a full night's sleep and make her lover happy.

"Fleur, you're not yourself. You need to sleep." Hermione paused after repeating herself. "And I'm nearly as grumpy as you are. This isn't working."

Fleur stopped walking and turned to Hermione, her heart afraid to beat. "What do you mean?"

"I just can't keep doing this anymore. This us pretending business, it isn't working. I need to see you more than I see you, and when I see you, I need you more than I can be with you. It's frustrating beyond belief. I don't care what we have to do to make it happen, but I need more than a quick snog in your locked office. I need you so much more than that. I miss talking to you before falling asleep. I miss your morning breath."

"I do not have morning breath," Fleur protested, smiling widely, relieved. "And if I did, it would smell of lilacs."

"You have morning breath, it smells nothing like lilacs, and I miss it," Hermione repeated, and then to fight off the protests coming to Fleur's lips. "And I am missing countless mornings without it and it just is not going to keep working like that."

"So what do you propose?"

"Us remembering to set the alarm clock before falling asleep tonight, for starters."


	27. Methods of Tea Making

In the morning, Fleur awoke with a smile, sleepy but satisfied smirk. It felt like a month, not the week that it had been, since she had been anywhere near this rested. Despite the morning sun streaming past the window in demand of her immediate attention, her eyes lingered peacefully shut. She wanted to enter the world slowly. She wanted a moment when the world consisted only of the sun against her eyelids, the duvet slipping off her body, and Hermione lying beside her. And when she opened her eyes, her eyes were only for Hermione. There was time enough for the rest of the world later. Her gaze lingered on the sleeping brunette, not quite ready to see anything else.

She knew that their time was short. They could not afford to have another Friday morning debacle. It was a dangerous game that they were playing now. They were an open secret, but if caught…

The luxury of watching one's lover sleep seemed to be reserved only for weekends and holidays, but Fleur could not help but spoil herself for a few seconds longer. She outstretched a finger and softly stroked Hermione's face.

Turning towards Fleur's touch, Hermione smiled sleepily, her eyes creeping open as she caught Fleur's finger in her mouth, enwrapping it in a soft kiss.

"It's morning already?"

"I am afraid so, mon coeur."

"A minute longer?"

Fleur leaned in and kissed Hermione softly on the lips. "Let us save that minute for this weekend, hm?"

"Such splendid morning breath," Hermione grinned playfully, her voice still crackling with her previous night's sleep.

"I am afraid you are mistaken. Delacours do not have morning breath."

"Try kissing yourself in the morning and then tell me that with a straight face," Hermione rolled her eyes, sitting up and stretching, yawning at the end of her sentence.

"I have absolutely no interest in kissing myself." Fleur fought off Hermione's yawn as she spoke, to limited success.

"Really?" Hermione regarded Fleur curiously.

"Why would I?" Fleur pulled herself from the warmth of the duvet. "I would much rather kiss you." And with that, Fleur stood up and moved to her closet, careful not to miss Hermione's blush out of the corner of her eye.

It was a few minutes later before either of them spoke again, both occupied with dressing themselves for the day. Tying the ribbon behind her dress, Fleur turned to Hermione.

"I know we discussed you coming over tomorrow to do some work. I was wondering if you wanted to invite some friends over as well? I am afraid that you would not be able to do your Defense Against the Arts, but surely you are forced to take other classes less stimulating than mine that you might also have work for. And there are the NEWTS. Anyway, I thought it would be nice to spend some time with you friends. I mean… if you would like." Fleur, not often prone to rambling, forced herself to stop talking when she saw the smile upon Hermione's face.

"I… I'll ask," Hermione crossed the distance between then and wrapped her arms around Fleur from behind, placing a quick peck on Fleur's cheek. "You're really sweet and thoughtful, you know that right?"

Fleur held Hermione's arms around her waist and shrugged silently, a soft smile on her face.

"Sorry about the morning breath." Hermione kissed Fleur's shoulder, still partly bare as Fleur was in middle of putting her dress on.

"Hm, why? I can barely smell yours at all," Fleur smirked as she turned her head around to face Hermione, and then softened her expression. "And thank you."

* * *

Bundled up, the two lovers walked at a brisk pace towards the castle.

Just before losing the tree covering, they separated. Fleur slipped her hand out of Hermione's pocket and leaned in for a quick, parting kisses. But like so many, it seemed to deepen beyond their control.

"Go," Fleur pulled away, before softly pushing her lover away and out of her arms. It was too tempting to linger. "We will see each other soon."

Hermione nodded, smiling softly. "I had a wonderful night with you."

Fleur dipped her head down, for a moment bashful and shy, her smile wide. "And I as well." She tried to put on a more serious expression, the tenderness still lingering. "Now you have to go. We will see each other in a matter of minutes."

"It'll be different." Hermione pouted.

"Go." Fleur shook her head. There was nothing that they could do about it.

And so Hermione took off towards the castle, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Fleur. Safely behind the trees, Fleur blew a kiss. Out of sight, she watched Hermione's jog across the grounds through the snow and then disappear into the warm castle. Warming her hands with her breath and kicking the snow with her shoe, Fleur waited five minutes after (to be safe) before following.

By the time Fleur entered the castle, her red cheeks were stinging and her toes were beginning to become numb. She stood in the entryway blowing some warmth back into her frozen fingertips as she tried to subdue her smile. The students ambled and rushed pass her on the way to class. Many "subtly" checked her out as they walked past. She removed her gloves and kicked the remainder of snow off her heels, pretending to not notice this. It was better that way.

"You look unusually cold this morning," McGonagall commented, pausing en route to her own classroom. She seemed to fidget with something behind her ear as she spoke.

"I decided to take a morning stroll before classes," Fleur replied effortlessly. "It seemed like a good day for it."

"Today is the coldest day of the month by far," McGonagall's eyes were locked on Fleur's heels. None of her shoes were designed for January walks, or any wintery weather for that matter. It was something that most of Hogwarts had simply accepted. McGonagall, however, seemed to still struggle openly with Fleur's footwear.

"I often find a cold winter morning both refreshing and invigorating, do you not?" Fleur smiled brushing a loose hair back behind her ear. She had decided to wear it down and was now second-guessing that decision.

"Well you certainly do look more rested than you have all week." McGonagall looked at Fleur strangely. It seemed as if there was something she wanted to say, but decided against it. Fleur swore she heard McGonagall mumbling something about modern time as the older woman walked away with a smile of her own.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Fleur made a half-hearted attempt to clean the house. She moved from room to room, tidying a few things here and there but she lacked the overall focus to commit to any one cleaning task in particular.

Hermione had left a few hours ago to head back to Hogwarts. When she returned, she would be bringing a few books that she had forgotten along with Lavender and Parvati. Fleur felt almost relieved that the boys would not be coming. Lavender and Parvati seemed the most used to both the thought and the reality of Hermione and Fleur as a couple. And it had been so exhaustingly awkward last time with Harry and Ron, negotiating the student-teacher professional-casual relationship. So she was thankful, in a way, that Harry and Ginny had Quidditch practice and Ron apparently wanted to watch. She knew that yes, in time, she would have to befriend the two Weasleys and Potter. It was important, vital that it happen. But at the moment, it seemed easier to take baby steps with Lavender and Parvati. Perhaps it was because the two girls had, at one point, taken great (and painful) strives to hide their own relationship that Fleur simply felt more comfortable around them. There was already that unspoken point of common ground, common experience, and, as of yet, unspoken understanding.

As Fleur poked around her house, she wondered about the rules—unspoken and not—about professors socializing with their students. Obviously, it happened. Hermione, Ron, and Harry have befriended Hagrid in their first year. Neville spent hours in the plant house with Professor Sprout. And there were a dozen or so other cases of students spending extra time with teachers. Usually, however, it was out of a more academic purpose, a shared curiosity and interest. And those cases didn't exactly seem to be the norm, now did they? Hogwarts was already turning a blind eye towards her relationship with Hermione. But how far could (should) she push the limitations on this matter? But what was wrong with befriending her girlfriend's friends? It was a natural course of a relationship. It wouldn't be healthy otherwise. And since Parvati and Lavender were already out, there was no way that Fleur, as their professor, could be accused of influencing them. (Right?)

So while Fleur attempted to tidy up for her (slightly unconventional) gathering, she was mostly just lost in her own thoughts as she gravitated to the various piles of books Hermione had left lying around the house. (If she and Hermione ever lived together, Fleur imagined a library with books overflowing into the other rooms. It was a warm, comforting, and altogether scary thought.) She had just finished skimming a book on international magical law and was starting to leaf through yet another book about portkeys when the doorbell rang.

Fleur answered the door with the book still in hand. Seeing the rosy cheeks and feeling the sting of the wind on her own skin, she quickly ushered the three girls inside. As Hermione leaned in for a hello kiss, Fleur was able to pretend not to notice Lavender pinching Parvati.

Pinching was an altogether familiar trick to Fleur. It was often a quite effective preventative measure against her veela charms. Pretending to not notice helped with the added bonus of avoiding potentially awkward and embarrassing situations.

After Goldie enthusiastically took coats, scarves, mittens, hats and seemingly anything else they would hand him, Fleur escorted the three girls out of the entryway and into her home. Parvati and Lavender looked around, unashamed of their curiosity. Fleur, feeling insecure, looked down. It was then that she noticed that Hermione's book was still in her hand. It was a small, thin book with a worn binding, comfortable to hold, easy to forget.

"What book are you reading?" Parvati asked, having followed the point of Fleur's attention. "Not something for one of your classes, is it?"

Fleur brought her gaze back down to the book so as to read the title. " _Understanding from Here to There: Advance Theory and Practice of Portkeys_." She paused, "It is one of Hermione's actually. I was simply tidying before you arrived." In the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but catch a slight blush on growing across Hermione's features.

"So nothing to do with your class? Or personal interest?" Lavender asked, putting an emphasis on her syllables that Fleur did not quite understand in the context of their conversation. "I mean… you know. Personal history… personal present. All that."

"The only real defense against a portkey is to hope that it is not one-way or that you have the ability to apparate. Common sense, really…" Fleur shrugged. "They are of as much interest to me as the floo network or apparation. You will have to ask Hermione why she has the book."

"They were just mentioned in one of my classes and I decided to do some extra reading on them, that's all." Hermione shifted uncomfortably..

"How you find time for extra reading with classes, the NEWTS, and dating your professor I will never know," Lavender shook her head.

"Some of us are just better at time management than others." Hermione's grinned, teasingly. Lavender's response was a dramatic pout before quickly recovering. It seemed to Fleur that this was a common conversational topic, a frequent joke made between friends.

"I am dying to see your schedule book, Mione. Breakfast, morning classes, lunch, quickie study session in the library, afternoon classes, secret professor snogging, studying, extra reading, keeping the first years in line, sneaking off to your professor's house for more secret snogging…" Lavender declared victory as both Hermione and Fleur were brightly blushing.

By that point, they had entered the parlor where the fire was crackling pleasantly. Lavender's teasing was mercifully cut short to admire (examine) the Delacour family portraits just as Hermione had done not that long ago. Fleur and Hermione, both familiar, only minded them a passing glance but altogether relieved for the distraction.

Satisfied with the paintings of Fleur's family, the girls arranged themselves on the floor around the coffee table in the parlor. For the moment, they were occupied with pulling out books, scrounging for quills and parchment in deep, seemingly never-ending bags. Fleur moved her lesson plan off her father's chair to the spot that had been reserved for her on the coffee table next to Hermione and across from Parvati.

"Before we become too settled, would you like a tour?" Fleur suggested.

Of course, the two girls agreed instantly, both still overcome with curiosity and the novelty of what a professor's home (and their friend's girlfriend's) home looked like. It was a small home and, knowing the tour would be short, Fleur feared that in some way it might disappoint.

Hand in hand with Hermione, Fleur led the girls room from room. This is the such-and-such room. The original curtains here were inspired by this or that. This is where the ugly and uncomfortable chair that her great great uncle won in bet is permanently sealed to the floor with the threat of a curse for those who try to move it. Hermione would interject here or there in each room, remembering a part of a story Fleur forgot or asking a (leading) question of her own. But more than Hermione herself, her belongings, now seamlessly interwoven into the home, seemed to interject more. It was if they belonged there to the same degree as her great great uncle's chair, perhaps even more loved, more cherished. At one point during the tour, Lavender was astonished to find a shirt that she had wanted to borrow a few days prior.

"Why didn't you say you had left it over at Fleur's instead of just saying no?" Lavender pouted picking up the shirt by the collar.

"I told you I couldn't find it," Hermione sighed. "What does it matter why?"

Throughout the corner of her eye, Fleur caught looks and glances between Hermione and Lavender. Casual brushes of hands. Looks of amusement, of comfortable familiarity. They meant nothing. And yet Fleur found herself feeling jealous before rationally shaking it off each time a wave hit her. They were friends. Friends were comfortable around each other.

The four lingered in the kitchen and the dining room. Parvati wanted to know if this was where Fleur ate since she never ate in the Great Hall. Fleur had to admit that yes it was. It was more comfortable. (Less stares and drool; less forced politeness, less avoided eye contact, less exhausting.) Cozy, really. And upstairs, Fleur pointed, were the bedrooms.

"Bedrooms?" Lavender repeated.

"This is a replica of my family's summer home. So their rooms are naturally here as well," Fleur answered.

"Have you redone them?" Parvati peered up the stairs curiously.

"Redone? What purpose who I have to do such a thing?" Fleur turned to look at Parvati, confused.

"I don't know. To use the space more."

Fleur shook her head. "This house is more than large enough for my purposes already. Besides, I do not see the point. I chose to do this replica so I would feel comfortable and at home." It went unsaid that she only planned to stay at Hogwarts for a year, further making such changes unnecessary.

* * *

Back in the parlor, after the endless tauntings of Lavender and Parvati sparked by seeing Fleur's bedroom (and her rather spacious bed), Fleur was still trying to recover (but at least she wasn't trying to catch her breath). Even if she was becoming friends with her students, it still did not seem proper for them to tease her about her sex life. (It was also strange, unsettling to realize that while she was a virgin, they clearly were not and had not been for a while.) There had to be a line somewhere, Fleur was sure of it. But now back at the coffee table, Fleur was (hopefully) safe from all that.

"It is a shame the boys could not make it," Fleur commented after a moment, half flipping through her notes for the upcoming weeks.

"It's kind of like the dullest double date ever without them," Lavender joked. "Next time Vati and I are picking what we do."

Fleur arched her eyebrow. "I do not believe that this technically counts as a double date."

Hermione, for her part, was blushing while furiously pretending to write something seemingly very crucial in her notes.

"On the technicality that this makes us seem like anoraks?" Lavender rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, it's probably why Ron didn't want to come. I mean he never usually watches Quidditch practices. They're well boring. He just didn't want to be left alone with the proof that all the girls he's ever fancied are gay. And that's ignoring the fact that's he's a witless zombie whenever he's around you, Fleur." And with that, Lavender promptly launched into her impression of Ron around Fleur. While it was highly dramatized, it was, Fleur had to admit, fairly (and painfully) accurate. And judging from the other two girl's reactions, it seemed like this was not the first time Lavender had done this impression.

"Really Lav, he's not that's bad." Hermione seemed to be holding in laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement at Lavender. 

Parvati, however, remained quiet, suddenly intently looking down at the book she just pulled from her book bag. Unfortunately, Fleur noted, it was upside down. Parvati quickly realized this and tried to correct this inconspicuously.

"I am sure he simply felt awkward about being the fifth wheel. It is totally natural." Fleur was keen on changing the subject. While she was more comfortable with him than she had previously, it seemed as if he was still someone Parvati was struggling with. Fleur stood up. "I think I am going to make some tea." Perhaps not one of her more socially brave moments, but she did not know what to do when hearing her two students begin to bicker over personal issues. Especially with the looks, the touches between Lavender and Hermione still lodged in her head, as harmless as they undoubtedly were.

As she walked away, she could hear the voices of the two girls behind her.

"I really don't care what he feels like, frankly," Parvati seemed to be saying.

"Vati!" Lavender hissed.

"What?" Parvati sounded like she was trying to mask the indignation, the anger in her voice. "I don't. He's not my friend. Never was. I don't know why he's even one of yours honestly."

"He's not. I don't know what you want from me, Vati. I can't simply ignore him, can I?"

"Works for me."

* * *

 

Once in the kitchen, Fleur leaned up against the counter and closed her eyes, shutting out the domestic bickering. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Barely having a few moments to herself, she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. Quickly pushing herself off the counter, she moved towards the teakettle and began to fill it with water. Fleur turned around to greet Hermione, kettle in hand, and was momentarily taken aback to instead find Parvati standing in the doorway.

"I was wondering if I could help you," Parvati offered with a slight smile.

Fleur nodded, placing the kettle on the burner. "Tea is not an entirely difficult procedure. However I would not begrudge the company."

"You know there is a spell for that, right?" Parvati tipped her head to the side, amused at Fleur's muggle-method of tea-making.

"I am of the opinion that it tastes better using this method," Fleur replied plainly. She moved to the cupboard to take out four teacups, placing them with little clinks onto the counter next to the teapot.

"What kinds of tea do you have?" Parvati took a few steps further into the kitchen.

"I am afraid that my selection will probably leave you a bit underwhelmed," Fleur shook her head as she opened the cupboard door above the sink to reveal her quite minimal tea assortment. (A bit? She was starting to sound like the English.)

Parvati nodded and looked at it, taking the boxes and tins out and inspecting. "The French aren't that into tea, are they?"

"Not that I wish to perpetuate stereotypes but I prefer espresso or a café au lait most times to be quite honest. And the English have yet to master a respectable café noisette… However I have started to appreciate the drink the more time I spend in England. Tea, it can be quite a… comforting drink, yes?"

As Fleur spoke, Parvati was rummaging through Fleur's boxes and tins of teas, pulling a few out, weighing them with her mind. Some she put back, other's she put down on the counter. A few she seemed to dismiss, she picked up again and re-judged. She then took the one's from the counter and re-examined them. A minute or so of this, and she turned around and handed the tin of lemon ginger to Fleur. "What about this one? It's either this or the Chinese Gunpowder tea. You're nearly out of PG Tips."

"Lemon ginger, I imagine, would be the better choice." Fleur had tried the Gunpowder tea exactly once, and had not enjoyed the large amount of caffeine that surged through her system as a result. She had kept the tea in her cupboard solely because the name amused her and she couldn't bring herself to throw it away.

The two women, not quite sure how to negotiate the student-teacher relationship in a casual non-school setting, were silent for a moment. Fleur busied herself with preparing a tray of cookies and other snacks. Parvati leaned up against the counter, closed her eyes and inhaled much in the similar manner that Fleur had done before she had entered the kitchen.

"Are you feeling quite well?" Fleur furrowed her brow.

"Oh, I'm fine," Parvati waved her hand. "Just the stress of the NEWTS and after school plans, I suppose."

"After school plans, I imagine, is a point of some stress for you seventh years. Are you and Lavender…?" Fleur started but did not know how to continue.

"Are what, staying together? That's the plan," Parvati nodded, but there did not seem to be a large amount of confidence in her voice and in her body language. It was a hopeful, but not an entirely assured nod.

"But?"

"I am still working towards forgiving her," Parvati shrugged, trying to be as casual as possible. "I mean, I have. But sometimes, I… it's complicated, I guess."

"About Ron?"

Parvati nodded, a bitter smile on her face.

"Hermione told me a little about… I mean, I do not mean to intrude."

"No, it's fine," Parvati shook her head. "It is silly really, to be mad. In the beginning, it was both our idea actually. We were so afraid of being found out… And we laughed about it at the beginning." She looked almost distant in remembering. Her fingers played with the hem of her shirt, twisting it, trying to find reason in it all. "She told me everything that happened between them. But then, I don't know when but it stopped being funny. I felt like I was the one being lead up the garden path and not him. I don't know. I just didn't want to hear anymore, but I couldn't not hear, you know? Because what if she liked him more than me? What if she liked how much easier it was to be with him than with me?"

Parvati leaned up against the counter and exhaled. Her words alternated between being drawn out and rushing through them so that they would just get out of her and be done with. She looked up at Fleur in a way that seemed that these words were the reason why she had followed Fleur into the kitchen. "So the thing we devised as our cover to keep us together… well, broke us up. I got insecure and jealous because part of her liked having her cake and eating it too. And after we broke up, she stayed with him. She said it was just to make me jealous." Parvati sighed (like a groan). She looked up at Fleur and smiled. And here Parvati tried to laugh, but it came out sounding far worse than she probably intended. "But it was only for a week or so. The longest week of my life. And then she tried to win me back, apologized constantly. Bought me my favorite candy, things like that. And I kept saying no. But we became friends again, because… because it was the only option. I couldn't live without her. Being just friends was such torture, though, when we both clearly wanted more. But I kept saying no until the summer. And when we got back together, my only condition was that we when we returned to Hogwarts, we wouldn't hide it anymore. And that she would have to accept the fact that I will never like Ron."

Fleur stayed silent listening to Parvati's unexpected venting. But by the end of it, Fleur was sure that this was more than just a form of release. Parvati wanted to tell her this. Fleur nodded silently, contemplating the parallels in her own relationship. Not sure when or how to interject, or even if she should, Fleur let Parvati say all that she needed to say.

"But still, a year later it hurts when she and Ron talk. When she talks about him. I've forgiven her. I've forgiven him. He didn't do anything wrong, you know? He didn't know. But I can't forget. It's still there. I remember everything."

Fleur looked at Parvati silent, her eyes trying to convey everything she couldn't find words for. "I'm unsure but… it does seem as if everything has not been fully forgiven yet. However, if Lavender is worth it…"

Parvati nodded, biting her lip in silent agreement. Seeming to whisper she is, before repeating it louder, clearer and with more confidence. "She is. We are."

"Then the healing process is worth it. But I think it's only begun. It is something that both of you are part of. Jealousy and insecurity is hard, for lack of a better word."

Parvati raised an eyebrow, not in judgment but in understanding. "Something you would know something about?"

"I am not saying that I am the biggest fan of particular Bulgarians or redheaded boys," Fleur shrugged, keeping her stance, her face, her words as neutral as possible.

"Or my girlfriend." Parvati interjected.

Fleur opened her mouth to protest and then closed it, paused to reflect and then nodded. "It is true, yes, that Hermione had a crush on Lavender last year. I know it is nothing. But at times, yes."

"But she has you. Lav was just a silly crush a year ago."

"I trust and believe in our love, in her. And maybe I am insecure because I care so much," Fleur spoke simply.

"Because of the courtship ritual?" Parvati offered.

"The courtship ritual is a… no. Not because of that. It is a natural extension of love, like inhaling after exhaling. But it is scary to love someone as much as I do. And it is frustrating to be in this situation." Fleur gestured at the kitchen as if it was a physical embodiment of her relationship. "All this hiding. The fact that she's over there and I'm over here. She still has this entire life at Hogwarts that I can only orbit around. A foreigner, her professor. And all we can do is be patient."

"But patience is not something you can afford a lot of."

Fleur arched her eyebrow up in defiance. "Honestly I am stronger than any of you English ever give me credit for." But even she was beginning to doubt her statement.

* * *

 

Shortly after Parvati followed behind Fleur with the tray bearing the teapot, cups, accoutrements, and sweets, one biscuit in her mouth as she walked.

"Vati, you're going to choke." Lavender groaned lovingly.

To this, the Indian girl smiled, finishing the cookie off in her mouth before placing the tray down and freeing her hands. Lavender shook her head. "One day you are going to choke like that, and then what?"

"My knight in shining armor will save me and then I will kiss you so much you will not be able to say I told you so," Parvati replied matter-of-factly.

Fleur joined Hermione, kissing her on the forehead and finding infinite comfort in that gesture, before pouring a cup of tea for everyone.

"Parvati, you better save some for the rest of us," Hermione admonished, as her friend seemed to inhale (at a polite pace) the sweets that Fleur had laid out.

"You have no idea how many she ate in the kitchen already," Fleur shook her head.

"Trust me, I have some idea," Lavender reached over and took Parvati's hand. Underneath the table, their fingers intertwined naturally. "This way, you can only use your one handed technique."

"I've never received any complaints about my one handed technique before." Parvati grinned mischievously back. "Or my two handed, for that matter."

It became quickly apparent to Fleur that no one had any intentions of actually studying or getting any work done, except for perhaps Hermione who quickly relinquished the idea at the other two girl's persistence on gossiping and joking around.

* * *

That evening, well after Lavender and Pavarti had left for dinner, Hermione and Fleur curled up against each other in bed. Hermione sleepily traced a pattern on Fleur's shoulder with her finger. Fleur, for the moment, seemed content to merely watch. A wonderful bookend to the day. Both were tired, but neither was ready to fall asleep. There was something tugging at Fleur's mind, pulling towards her consciousness in a way that she could not ignore.

"Hermione," Fleur spoke softly, breaking the mutual, comfortable silence they had enjoyed.

"Hm?" Hermione brought her eyes up, her finger still intently tracing a pattern on Fleur's shoulder. Down her shoulder, circling around the elbow and moving back up. Twisting, gliding softly, gently across the skin.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Hermione spoke with a look of surprise, of concern, of curiosity. She had no idea what Fleur was about to say, her serious but soft tone hard for the brunette to read.

"What is the real reason you have so many books about portkeys?"

Hermione's finger froze, her mouth opened and then closed.

"I know that they were not mentioned in one of your classes. Flitwick has been teaching the exact same syllabus for at least two decades. He leant it—or rather, I should say Dumbledore leant me a copy of it to aid me in my own syllabus. Over the course of the past year, I have studied it immensely and nearly have it memorized. There is no mention of portkeys in any of his syllabi."

There seemed to be a decision being made across Hermione's face as she hesitated to respond. "You wouldn't believe me if I said casual interest, would you?"

Fleur shook her head, smiling slightly at the attempt at innocent on Hermione's features. "You are far too focused to spend time on something merely out of pure curiosity especially with the NEWTS coming up. So no. And this is something you do not want other students to find out about, because you left the books at my house."

Hermione frown. "You're very smart."

"Would you rather a stupid girlfriend?"

"No, I like my women smart and cunning."

"It runs in the family. My mother is a spy."

"And a good one at that, I'm guessing."

"Who trained me rather well. I will not be distracted easily."

Hermione exhaled. "I did not want to tell you until it was all figured out. But I was … I mean it all very nice to wake up early, walk to the edge of the forest and then for you to freeze while I make my way to the castle ahead of you every morning."

"We can be thankful for the foretold event of spring. I hear England has one every year."

"I think I found something better besides waiting for the weather."

"Something better?" A breath. "You mean," the thought pulling together, "you want us to use a portkey?"

"I've figured out how to make one."

"Hermione, it is an extremely complex magical spell, far beyond even NEWT level spell casting. I am the last to doubt your magical abilities, but if everything is not absolutely perfect, any number of ill repairable damages could occur. Not to mention the creation of one without the correct authorization is illegal and does not meet a light punishment."

"It's only illegal if we get caught," Hermione smiled mischievously.


	28. The Portkey

Fleur blew on her coffee, feeling oddly like her mother, as she sat across from Hermione, the kitchen table dividing them. Hermione, for her part, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Her own coffee cup sat in front of her. Untouched, the steam danced upwards towards the heavens. A cold rain poured down the windows in ribbons as the kitchen was cloaked in a thin blanket of tension. Fleur wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself for warmth, for comfort. For something to do. It seemed like hours since either of them had spoken, weeks before Hermione finally broke the silent.

"I thought you would be, I don't know, happy, that's all." Hermione grumbled, not even attempting to hide the annoyance, the hurt in her voice.

"I am very touched, yes, and happy, yes. But did you consider the ramifications of an illegal portkey?" Fleur placed her coffee cup down. "You know what I wish, that I want nothing more than for you to be able to be here most nights, and if I am completely honest and selfish, every night. And sneaking around is extremely unpleasant, for both of us. I just feel that perhaps there are other avenues left for us to explore before resorting to breaking magical law. What about your Head Girl privileges, Harry's invisibility cloak?"

"The privileges only go so far and they don't particularly extend to visiting one's professor girlfriend." Hermione scowled. "Harry uses that cloak to visit Ginny, you know that. Face it Fleur, every other option is just asking for us to be caught. At some point someone is going to see me walking across the grounds in the morning—or in the middle of the night for that matter. People are going to start wondering why I never come down for breakfast anymore. Or how I never seem to come from my room in the morning. It doesn't take much to figure it out. We're an open enough secret that even Goyle should to be able to put two and two together after awhile."

"Well, perhaps we will just have to do this less? Maybe just the weekends or…" Fleur nearly croaked the words as she gripped her coffee cup, barely believing what she was saying. She certainly wasn't able to look at her girlfriend as she spoke. There had to be a different, a better solution.

"Neither of us wants that, Fleur. And you definitely cannot afford that," Hermione shook her head. "You aren't looking well. And if you are going to postpone the sealing, you should at least let me do  _something_."

Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know. However there are consequences to our actions that we need to consider. And I am not sure—"

"Not sure of what, Fleur?"

Fleur bit her lip and closed her eyes. She did not want the conversation to head in that direction. "What about the floo network?"

"Oh, because that's subtle."

"I am trying here!" Fleur, who had once again picked up her coffee to blow on it, slammed her cup down hard on the edge table. Coffee escaped the rim onto the kitchen table and down Fleur's bathrobe. A weakness in her hand and the shock of the hot liquid on her skin was all it took for her to drop the cup entirely. It fell down on its side, rolled across the table. "Merde!" Fleur bolted up as the hot liquid burnt her leg. Her abrupt movement toppled her chair to the ground.

Snatching a nearby napkin, she made a few half-hearted, frustrated gestures to wipe the coffee off her robe. But it had already soaked through, staining the garment, further burning her thigh. And the table, the table could wait.

Hermione rushed over, knocking her own chair over in the process. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine. I am just…" Fleur closed her eyes and bit her lip for what felt like the tenth time since waking up that morning. She waved her hand in the general direction of the coffee spilled across the table dripping onto the floor. A small drop of coffee ran down her legs, already cooling in the air. An entirely unpleasant sensation.

"Frustrated, I know. And tired, you didn't sleep well last night," Hermione dropped the napkin she was intending to use to clean up the table and cupped Fleur's face in her hand. "I understand how this worries you, but I've thought this through. You have to trust me on this. The portkey is the best solution we have. And I've researched the penalties. They're very minimal at worst, a fine usually, a wag of a bureaucratic finger really. Rarely is it ever anything worse than that."

"Something like this, it would follow you. It will come up later, throughout your entire life, haunting you. If you ever desired a post in the Ministry or anywhere, really, it would be there, holding you back. A further example of your blatant disregard of rules that don't suit you. I do not wish to do that to you."

"Then I suppose we cannot get caught, now can we?" Hermione rested her forehead against Fleur. "I am not worried. I have faith in us."

Fleur bit her lip once again and for a moment she did not speak. Her eyes closed in thought. But all she could do was feel the coffee cooling on her skin, the warmth of Hermione, the sensation of being surrounded in her lover's scent. And it was there she found the only answer that she could come up with.

"I understand that perhaps, yes, in many respects the portkey is the best solution we have to our current dilemma." As she spoke, she chose her words carefully, diplomatically. "But please allow me to speak to Dumbledore first? He could potentially be an ally if there was ever anything to go wrong. Or he could even have a better solution that neither of us has thought of. He is our strongest supporter here and I believe it would be wrong if we were to go behind his back on something so major while still, in a sense, under his roof."

At first Hermione kept silent, mulling Fleur's proposition over. In all her years at Hogwarts, Fleur knew that requesting that they seek the approval of Dumbledore was, while not a new or foreign concept, not a common occurrence for Hermione. Finally, she nodded. "You will not agree to it any other way, will you?"

"I am afraid not, no."

"And people say that I'm stubborn," Hermione sighed.

"And so you consent?"

"On the condition that you speak with him soon."

"On Monday, I promise. Now may we have a half decent breakfast before I have to let you return to Hogwarts?"

Hermione nodded, giving Fleur a soft kiss on the cheek. Thinking better, she relocated to Fleur's lips. And when Hermione moved to pull away, Fleur followed her, deepening the kiss, unable to let go quite yet. A tear ran down her cheek.

And when they separated. Hermione wiped the tear away gently with her thumb. For a moment both eyes fixed on the tear's residue on Hermione's thumb. Wordlessly Hermione brought her thumb to her mouth and swallowed the tear between her teeth. "What's this for?" She asked softly, the saltiness still on the tip of her tongue, lingering on the edge of her lips.

"I am exhausted." Fleur stated simply.

"Of?"

Fleur brought her arms up and dropped them. "Of this. Of all these complications." As if it wasn't hard enough just to be in love. "It should not have to be this hard to be with the one I love. We should not have to tiptoe around and to break laws. And we should have time. We should have time."

"We should, however this is what we have. And I am happy to have it if it's with you."

"You are undeniably sweet," Fleur smiled softly. Her eyes wandered across the room, past Hermione to both kitchen chairs knocked down. "I am incredibly lucky."

Hermione brought her attention back by tucking a loose strand of hair back behind Fleur's ear. "There is something that I wasn't going to tell you until I knew for sure that it would happen. But it's mostly almost sorted now."

"Mostly almost?" Fleur perked up an eyebrow, softly teasing.

"I spoke to both McGonagall and my parents about visiting them this term. My grandmother is rather sick and there are some things that I need to tell them. It's been approved, obviously, but we just haven't decided when."

Fleur opened her mouth to say something, but Hermione placed a finger on Fleur's lips, successfully silencing her lover for the moment.

"It's something that I've been planning since before we returned from France, Fleur, so if you are about to protest about your pressuring me, don't. You are not allowed. I want to tell them."

Even with Hermione's finger withdrawn, Fleur could barely speak. She was choked up with happiness, surprise. Nervousness.

"I want to… test the water first before I say anything. I don't know how they'll react. It's a complete mystery. I mean, they might be fine with it or they might not be. They might… I don't even know. I mean I want to tell them I just want to make sure that they don't…"

Fleur reached her hand out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hermione's ear, a (hopefully) comforting gesture. "That they don't…?"

"Disown me or pull me out of Hogwarts."

"Would they do that?" Fleur knew that it was scary coming out, that the Wizarding world was not always the most accepting and the Muggle world was likewise similar, if not worse. But she had a hard time imagining parents who truly loved their children would inflict such horrors.

"They've let me enter this entire world that they cannot be a part of or really ever understand. They entrust me to this school they had never heard of. And then I come home in the middle of my last year and tell them that I'm in a serious and committed lesbian relationship with my professor? I mean it's a lot to swallow."

"Maybe we can withhold the fact that I am your professor until later?" Fleur arched her eyebrow, not sure what to say or how to be comforting. "We can figure out something to say together, hm? Something that will be easy for them to process. Ease them into the reality." Fleur liked baby steps. She believed in moving slowly, cautiously while looking confident and stunning. "So perhaps we wait until later to tell them that I am both your professor and a veela?"

"They won't even know what veela means," Hermione exhaled, suddenly seeming to become overwhelmed with the prospect of the truth.

"They will have to at some point, I imagine." A pause. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Fleur, they're bound to freak out, even if just a little. I doubt that they saw this coming. But what if they freak out a lot? This just might be the one thing that is too much. They might think that they've lost me too much and try to… Hogwarts, my friends here and you are all I have really. I don't think I could stand it if they tried to tear us apart. And I know you couldn't survive it." Hermione's voice trembled. "I… I… I care about you too much. I need you. I can't lose you."

"We shall not let them. They are your parents and they love you. In the end, we have to trust that they will have to realize what will be best for you."

"And that's you." Hermione reached up, her finger resting on Fleur's neck. "That's you."

Before Fleur could respond, Hermione captured her lips, swallowing whatever Fleur had to say in a desperate, passionate embrace. Fleur, overcome by the kiss, found herself reaching backwards to brace herself. But there was nothing to steady herself with. Caught off-balance, the two toppled backwards on the floor. But even then, Hermione was reluctant to let go of her hold of Fleur. The untouched breakfast on the coffee-soaked table was cold by now, as was the damp spot of coffee on Fleur's leg. However in that moment, that hardly mattered.

* * *

Fleur stood outside Dumbledore's office. Her appointment with the headmaster was in five minutes. However, she could not remember the password. He had just recently changed it and Fleur had little to no familiarity with English candy. To her, the words and names were a bunch of mumbo jumbo, difficult to remember. So she stood outside for several minutes listing off all the different types of candy that she remembered Parvati consuming, which was a surprisingly extensive list, before finally hitting upon success.

Ascending the staircase, Fleur adjusted her outfit. She closed her eyes before inhaling and exhaling for strength and determination. She had barely knocked when the door opened to reveal Dumbledore sitting behind his desk.

"Miss Delacour, please come and do sit down," he smiled invitingly.

Nodding, Fleur stepped into the room. Her heels clicked against the stone floors, seemingly louder than anywhere else in Hogwarts, as she walked to her seat. "Good afternoon, Professor," she greeted him as she took her seat.

"Can I interest you in some Cockroach Clusters?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he offered a bowl of candy. Fleur reached out tentatively towards offered treats. "Careful, there are real cockroaches."

Fleur retreated her hand, careful not to scrunch her face too much. "No thank you."

"Suit yourself," Dumbledore shrugged, popping a cluster in his mouth with some delight. "Crunchy."

Fleur just smiled, a bit uneasy, as she watched a well-respected, powerful wizard eat chocolate covered cockroaches. Sometimes the truth really was stranger than fiction.

"So what is on your mind, Miss Delacour?" He leaned in, flicking a bit of chocolate out of his beard. "It is not classes I hope. And matters do seem to be progressing quite well with Granger."

Fleur's smile seemed to have a nervous color to it. "Our relationship is progressing well. Better than I would have hoped."

"But you are still weak. I assume that the courtship has not been completed."

Fleur felt herself turning bright red. It was one matter to discuss the ritual with Hermione or others, but Dumbledore? "No, we have not. Not yet at least. Soon, I hope."

"And I as well. How long do you have?"

"Not as long as I had hoped," Fleur bit her lip after confessing. "We are not even fully sealed yet. However, I come to speak on another related matter."

"Another related matter?"

"A matter of…" Fleur searched for the words. "Visitation, if you will."

"Visitation?" He perked his eyes up. If Fleur was not mistaken, he seemed to be smirking behind his beard.

"And more specifically, a matter in regards to portkeys. Sir." Fleur readjusted her skirt nervously.

"So Hermione has finally managed to figure out how to create one, has she?"

"She… I…" Fleur nodded, partly stunned. "Yes, she has."

"I had thought she might. A powerful and smart wizard, your girlfriend." His eyes twinkled as she spoke. "It would be such a waste after creating such a complex object to not allow it to work. For educational purposes, of course." His eyes twinkled.

"Of course."

* * *

On Tuesday evening, Hermione curled up underneath Fleur's duvet. She had gone to her room in Gryffindor presumably to go to bed, locked the door behind her and used her portkey to arrive at Fleur's doorstep seconds later. Fleur was all ready for bed. In a strange way, it was reminiscent of France. Settled warmly underneath the covers, Hermione found it fit to once again congratulate herself.

"Isn't this much easier?" Hermione beamed quite proud of herself.

"Quite. And even better with Dumbledore's approval."

"Why do you think that Dumbledore is so helpful in our relationship?" Hermione questioned after taking a moment to shift closer against the warmth of Fleur's body, mindful of her cold feet.

Fleur shrugged. "Because he is a good man, I suppose." She had other theories, perhaps. But nothing worth mentioning out loud. There was no evidence. Only theories, feelings. Hints. Like with Bill and a few others Hogwarts, like with Hermione before she knew for certain. "And I imagine him to be a bit of romantic."

For a few minutes, they simply laid there enjoying the warmth, the feel of each other's bodies, a newfound weeknight luxury cherished in comfortable silence. Fleur did not know when it happened, but silence had become comfortable between them. There was no overriding pressure to say anything, to charm, to do anything but be. Not that they were a loss of words to say to each other. But there were moments for silence.

Hermione bit her lip, reaching the point when a thought became a spoken sentence. "What was it like? I mean, what was it like to come out to your parents?"

"It is different in veela culture since we only fall for someone once. In our eyes, it is not a matter of sexual orientation as much as the person."

"Well when did you tell your parents about me?"

"Over the summer after the tournament. Funny, I cannot remember where we were at the time. But I remember clearly what shoes I was wearing and the weather," Fleur sort of laughed at herself, but it came out as more of a loud exhale. "Strange how memory works."

"It was July," she remembered that much. "When I had returned home from the tournament, I essentially barricaded myself in my room. I was distraught over the tournament, over Cedric." (Over you.) "We had never been what I would consider close friends, Cedric and I, and it was a competition first and foremost always. But I enjoyed our conversations. And there is a bond, a common understanding between the Champions. No one quite understands to the extent that we do what occurred during the tournament, the experience of that hellish competition. Even if we are not friends now, I believe, there will always be that understanding." Even with Krum. "But even more than being distraught, I was unexplainably physically exhausted. It all came crashing down the minute I returned home and allowed my guard down. My guise of strength, of being fine… I physically, mentally could not hold it up any longer. I barely had the strength to stand for a month afterward."

It had been a dark time for Fleur. Weakness was always something that made Fleur uneasy, uncomfortable. And now she was drenched in it. But by July, she was starting to come out of it. Her strength was returning, her ability to socialize, to connect with other people. Slowly, little by little. Slower than her parents thought. Slower than anyone felt comfortable with. But in July things were starting to improve. But by then people began to become suspicious that perhaps there was another reason for her weakness.

* * *

_She was sitting when they asked her. She remembered that. But where? On her bed, at the kitchen table, on the back steps overlooking their garden? As hard as she tried to press herself, Fleur simply couldn't remember where she was at the time. But she was looking at her shoes. A comfortable pair of silver-blue flats, an old favorite so worn she could no longer wear them out of the house._

_Her father had asked her how long and Fleur had replied how long for what. Fleur remembered her father's voice, soft. He had that gentle patience of someone who already knew the truth and Fleur, Fleur was too exhausted to deny what her parents already knew. So when he asked her who was it, she broke out, nearly crying, repeating over and over that "It's a girl. It's a girl." Shaking, gripping her shoulders with both arms, cold and exhausted._

_Her mother had hugged her then, smoothing her hair down, whispering softly to calm Fleur down. Her father gently pressing on who it was, who was she._

_And Fleur answered in broken breaths when she could. "Hermione. Hermione Granger. She's a girl. A girl. A fourteen year-old girl from Hogwarts."_

_"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Fleur," her mother's voice tried to calm her daughter to limited success. "How did you two leave it?"_

_"Nothing. There was nothing to leave. She only knows of me because I was a Champion."_

_"Fleur…" And there was that worried tone, a mother's tone, a tone Fleur was bound to hear over and over for the next three years._

_"Viktor Krum… she is dating Viktor Krum." (Bulgarians.)_

* * *

Fleur shook her head, trying to shake out the memories. "I was the one who was having the hard time, not them. They were more worried that we had barely spoken and that you were dating Viktor than the fact that you were a fourteen year-old girl."

"For the record, I was not dating Viktor Krum," Hermione grumbled, partly teasing, partly setting the record straight yet again.

"I know that now. But then, yes. It looked as if you were dating or close enough to it."

"If you knew me at all then, you would have realized that anything between me and Viktor was bound to fail."

"That was the problem, now was it not?" Fleur kissed the top of Hermione's head lovingly.

There was another pause.

"It won't be like that with my parents. Fleur… I'm scared."

Fleur readjusted to hold Hermione in her arms, to surround her in her own body. "I know." She kissed her lover softly on the head not sure what else to say. "I love you."


	29. From Bed

Fleur laid back in bed, eyes half opened as she lazily observed Hermione adjusting her tie in the mirror. Satisfied that it was straight and the knot was tight enough, the brunette turned around. Now Fleur had never enjoyed the Gryffindor colors. As a rule she just didn't think they worked together. However on Hermione, Fleur had to admit, the colors worked rather well. Or maybe she was simply biased.

"Planning on getting out of bed anytime soon, sleepyhead?" Hermione teased warmly.

"Mmm," Fleur stretched grinning. "Pondering it. I am having such an enjoyable morning watching you."

"You're going to be late," Hermione chided, hiding the blushing on her face.

Fleur pouted, but reluctantly pulled herself out of bed nonetheless. Instantly feeling the chill of the cold air, she pulled her bathrobe over her body. Her eyes fell to the coffee stain from the day before and frowned. She would have to wash that, but part of her secretly feared that this stain was permanent. And what then? Live with it or get a new bathrobe? But that was getting ahead of herself. Perhaps the stain could be removed after all. Perhaps.

Making her way to the closet, Fleur brushed her hand across the small of Hermione's back as she passed. Sifting through her collection of dresses, she tried to devise the perfect Wednesday outfit. From the corner of her eye, she watched Hermione pull her jumper over her head. She paused, leaning up against the doorway, once again unabashedly watching her girlfriend.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," Fleur half-whispered, as watching Hermione get ready in the morning was breathtaking. And it was.

"And what is the difference between lying in bed and getting out of bed if all you are planning to do this morning is watch me?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, taking a few steps closer towards Fleur.

"Well, the bed was warmer for one," Fleur smirked, enwrapping her lover in her arms. "However, you were no longer in it."

Hermione smiled softly. "You are going to be late either way."

"So are you," Fleur shrugged, leaning in to kiss Hermione softly on the forehead.

"Only if you distract me," Hermione sighed, moving closer in to Fleur momentarily giving into her lover's charms.

"Which I fully intend on doing," Fleur felt no qualms about this. And, as if to prove it, she leaned in and captured Hermione's lips. It was a few minutes before Fleur finally allowed Hermione to continue getting ready. "Besides, the portkey gives us more time."

"Gives me more time. You still have to walk to the castle," Hermione corrected as she moved out of Fleur's arms. "You know with the portkey maybe sometime you could come and spend the night in Gryffindor."

As Hermione spoke, she placed a few books into her bag—when she arrived back in her room, all she had to do was unlock the door and walk to class. Her voice sounded casual, but Fleur could tell that it was something Hermione had given some thought to.

"I… Shall we talk about that later?" Fleur, adjusting the ribbon on her dress, held back the temptation to turn around and look at Hermione, not quite sure how to respond. Part of her, all of her was dying to see what the Gryffindor tower looked like, more importantly what Hermione's room looked like. Were there books piled everywhere, was it impeccably neat, cluttered with clothes? How were the walls decorated, if at all?

However, there had to be a line where they became too reckless. With the portkey they were straddling that line. But somehow the idea of Fleur spending the night in the student dormitory felt like that would be the tipping point. It would be like they were asking, begging, demanding to be caught. Demanding trouble.

Now it was Hermione's turn to pout.

"You are going to be late," Fleur reminded her lover.

"That is partly your fault, if I recall correctly." Hermione gave in, but Fleur could tell that it was only for the time being.

"That is utter nonsense. Now go before I kiss you and never let you leave."

Hermione nodded, taking Fleur's threat seriously. "Meet you after classes?"

Fleur smiled. "Already counting down the minutes. Have a wonderful day."

After a quick (but not quite chaste) goodbye kiss, Hermione picked up the worn copy of  _Hogwarts, A History_  sitting on the bed stand and was almost instantly gone from the room. The room felt instantly emptier, lonelier, and even a bit colder. Fleur let out a sigh and continued getting ready. She still had to trudge across the grounds and steal some food from the Hogwarts kitchen for breakfast (a habit she had yet to tell Hermione about).

* * *

Now with the portkey, the tension and the anxiety that had become interwoven in the everyday workings of their relationship lessened. True Hermione still locked the door behind her when she met Fleur in her office after classes and their embraces there were still desperate and consumed with the fear (the thrill, no, the fear) of being caught. They still walked to the Hospital Wing a safe distance apart discussing "safe" topics—Defense Against the Dark Arts, the weather (many topics quickly turned to flirting had to be avoided). Throughout the day they still communicated through Hermione's enchanted parchment. They were still a secret. A secret that one edge was amusing to play with, imagining being caught but whose sharp edge was the total fear of actually being found out.

But now this secret was now all done with the understanding that in the night they would find (brief, momentary) reprieve. Sanctuary. They would be alone, Fleur's home the untouchable world at the edge of the school grounds. Their furtive and frustratingly agonizing existence during the day became just that: during the day. At night they could breath. They could be themselves. There was no need to hide or sneak around (once Hermione arrived). It was if the outside world, within those night hours, did not exist.

But it did exist.

And Fleur had to prepare.

Normally Fleur avoided the hallways during the busier times of the day—in between classes, the bookends of mealtimes. And even if she was not with Hermione she tended to choose less popular routes—but students tended to discover these routes. She was constantly changing how she got to places. As a result, by the second term she was still getting lost (while also knowing the castle better than most second or third year students, and arguably some fourth years as well). But these choices, she knew, were the best for everyone involved (she still remembered Ron Weasley asking her to Yule Ball, yelling more like it—something she was careful to never bring up).

But on that Friday, she braved the sea of students ebbing its way towards the Great Hall for lunch. They parted, allowing her to pass as she moved against the tide. She ignored the stares and politely smiled and nodded, agreeing to help a few students if they needed help on one of their assignments and reminding them that no, she did not accept extra credit unless there were outstanding circumstances.

As she reached her destination, the few remaining students were still trickling out of the classroom door. Fleur stepped aside, waiting for the last to leave. She knocked softly on the side of threshold before entering. Her eyes wandered briefly around the room. It was one she had never been in before. The walls were covered in posters whose images surprisingly did not move and strange artifacts that Fleur had only read about or heard Hermione explain cluttered the surfaces. A telephone, a toaster, thumbtacks.

In the front of the classroom, Professor Charity Burbage stood before her desk sorting through papers and placing them methodically in the bag in front of her. The older woman looked up, a hint of surprise on her features. Fleur smiled congenially, winningly. She had been hoping that the Professor of Muggle Studies would be available.

"Professor Burbage, good afternoon," Fleur greeted the older woman warmly as she closed the door behind her.

Burbage nodded, a bit stiffly and formally at her colleague. "And good afternoon to you as well Professor Delacour. To what do I owe this… visit?"

Fleur and Burbage had barely every spoken, if one could even call their exchanges speaking. Normally it was nods, polite acknowledgements of each other's existence. This was nothing exceptional in itself—Fleur rarely spoke, if ever, to most of her colleagues. Defense Against the Dark Arts professors never lasted more than a year and it was well known that she hardly had any intention of changing this tradition. Teaching merely happened to be something that she was good at, something she was doing to briefly pass the time. They knew her real passions and interests lay elsewhere and that teaching was a means to an end. An end that most did not approve of or feel comfortable with. So most treated her with polite indifference—a hello on those rare occasions their paths would cross. And that was how it had been with Professor Burbage. Neither woman ever feeling moved to seek each other out let alone exchange anything beyond mere (required) pleasantries.

Her relationship with her colleagues was nothing new to Fleur by any means. Those with veela blood rarely made friends easily outside of the insular veela community. And she had not expected anything different in England. (She had hoped, foolishly, at one point, but no matter.)

"I have a few questions for you. I…" Fleur exhaled nervously. She had been thinking for months about visiting this woman and had finally worked up the courage. But now, would the words come and would they come out right? "I am in need of your help."

Burbage perked an eyebrow up as she placed a book into her bag. Fleur continued, trying to find the strength. She felt suddenly more exhausted—and couldn't remember if she had taken her potion this morning. She had, hadn't she? Surely she did.

"I know that we are not fully acquainted and this might seem rather, well, rash and rude I imagine. However my situation—"

"I hope you know that I do not fully approve of your  _situation_ ," Burbage crossed her arms, raising her eyes slightly as she said situation. "She is a child, Fleur."

"As am I least we not forget," Fleur countered. She never thought that it would be easy, but she had never guessed it would have to be this hard either. At every turn she had to fight, to defend, to prove. And in her condition, it was becoming increasingly exhausting. And frustrating.

"But you are in a position of authority, Fleur. It goes beyond mere age differences."

"Yes. I would agree with that. But I implore you to realize the intricacies in my situation."

"Are you really going to fall back on your being part veela as an excuse for your inappropriate behavior?"

"Yes, I am. That and my love for her," Fleur crossed her arms. She was, like always, poised and ready to fight for her love. "All I am requesting is your understanding in my circumstances. I propose a deal, an exchange of understanding if you will."

"An exchange of understanding?" Burbage's tone indicated that she was not especially interested. In fact, her entire body language seemed to shout it at Fleur.

"An exchange of understanding," Fleur repeated, pressing on and refusing to be so easily deterred. "I am not deluding myself into believing that someday we will be friends. However you are in a position to be of great help to me and I take you to be a good person. I understand that I cannot force you to do anything nor do I desire for you to compromise your morals. I only request that you allow me to lend you a few books, two actually. They are both rather short reads, and naturally it is entirely up to you if you decide to actually read them. They are written by Veelas and their mates, an insider's prospective, if you will, to my situation. And, after reading, should you feel a change of heart then perhaps you could recommend some reading on Muggles in exchange. A harmless enough trade, yes? Two people aiding each other in the quest for knowledge and understanding."

While in school, Fleur had never excelled in or put much effort into Muggle Studies. In fact she had dropped the line of study at her soonest opportunity, a decision she now fully regretted. And while she doubted she would be meeting the Grangers anytime soon, she did not want to make a fool of herself when she did. She had been researching for months in the library preparing for a distant moment she had no grip on. But, despite her efforts, she felt as if she was getting nowhere. She did not know how to discern what was important from what was not or how to sift what was useful from what was just merely interesting (or boring).

"I see where this would benefit you immensely." Burbage continued to pack up her bag.

Fleur sighed. "One rarely proposes something that would not benefit them and they are all the wiser if it benefits them immensely, Professor. However, I would hope that you see that perhaps this would be useful to you as well, or at least interesting."

"Oh?" The older woman stopped packing, but otherwise gave no sign in thinking that Fleur could persuade her otherwise.

"Perhaps they would be of interest to you to learn something new, or at least be an intellectually captivating read. Something to read before falling asleep or while you waited for the water to boil. Or they merely could be quality paperweights for a few weeks or something to help you draw a right angle with. Again, I am not requesting that you read them unless you desire to. You are probably a rather busy woman, yes? My only intent is for you to borrow them." Fleur walked across the room and opened her bag, pulling forth the two books. They were both fairly thin books—no more than a hundred pages, each bound in leather. They had been read but not by that many people. Veelas had always been secretive with information about themselves. And even books 'approved' for wider audiences, such as these, were hard to come by. "And then, after a while and at your own leisure, I hope that you return them as they are books from my family's personal collection."

"I see you won't take no for an answer," Burbage observed, still distant in tone and facial expression.

"I am essentially asking you for your trust and understanding, Professor. This is not something that I can force. However, I would like, if you allow me, to make the first step towards earning it. I hope that you take my coming to you in itself as evidence that I am not with Hermione out of some twisted pretense. I truly wish to understand the world that she comes from, that her parents live in. I am doing my own research yes, but you are an expert in the field."

"As is Hermione."

"She explains aspects to me, yes, but it is hard for a fish to describe the water they swim in." She laid the books gently down on the desk front of Burbage. "I need your help and I would like to think that I am worthy of it. However that is for you to decide." Fleur then took a step away from the desk. "Now I understand that I have interrupted your lunch hour, so I will not consume any more of your time. I only request that you think about what I have said. Good day to you Professor Burbage." And with that, Fleur turned to leave.

"Are you really ill, as they all say you are?" The older woman asked when Fleur was halfway across the room.

Fleur froze in her steps, and turned around, a weak smile on her face. "Old gossips all of you."

"What I mean, Delacour, is we all know on some level that you are not well physically." Burbage shook her head. "The students, the professors, the ghosts. Illness is not a secret that is easily hidden for long especially a disease as seemingly scandalous as yours."

"Yes. I am quite ill." Fleur sighed. No need to define exactly how much she meant by quite. She wasn't willing to define it to her self.

"And Hermione is somehow connected to your illness?" Burbage continued.

"In a way, yes. More specifically, my feelings towards her are. I love her more than I even know how to begin to describe. I always have, from the moment I saw her three years ago. And I always will."

And when Burbage did not say anything else, Fleur continued to walk away. She knew when to press and when to be patient. Perhaps the woman's curiosity was wetted enough that she might actually read one of the books. Perhaps not. Fleur was disappointed, yes, but she did not feel like it was an entirely wasted effort.

"Madeleine Murry," Burbage called out again when Fleur reached the door.

Fleur turned around, her hand still on the doorknob. "Excuse me?"

"Madeleine Murry," Burbage repeated, "is who I would suggest. She not only is an expert on the inner workings of the Muggle world, but also on the experience of living both in the Muggle and in the Wizarding world, something she had personal experience in and has great insight in explaining. I base the backbone of most of my curriculum on her writings. Hers and my own texts of course. So I would suggest her, as a start. But, Fleur, the best way to understand a different culture is to experience it."

Fleur ducked her head and smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Professor Burbage."

"Please, call me Charity."

"Thank you, Charity. It truly means a lot to me." Fleur smiled again and then closed the door behind her.

* * *

It seemed to have become the unspoken tradition that Hermione's friends would visit on Saturday afternoons under the pretense of doing work. Work, however, was rarely touched for long, if at all. Over time Fleur felt increasingly more comfortable and at ease with Hermione's friends. She even felt that some—Parvati in particular—were becoming her friends in their own right. Or rather, on the path, a start.

However, Fleur had never been with all of them before at the same time. And she found it nerve-wracking and overwhelming to have not just Parvati and Lavender but also Ron, Harry and Ginny sitting in her parlor. Harry and Ginny had helped Fleur move the large couch from the study to the parlor so that everyone would have a place to sit. Harry and Ginny now shared that couch with Ron, who was wedged between Harry and the arm of the couch. He looked rather uncomfortable to Fleur, but somehow she figured it was more due to the situation than how he was unnecessarily pressing himself up against her furniture. Parvati, herself, seemed determined to look anywhere but at Ron, her hand lying possessively on her girlfriend's knee, who pretended to be oblivious to it all. As did the rest of the group.

It was Ginny's first time there and her eyes explored the house with a guarded curiosity.

"When was your family portrait done?" Ginny asked, referring to the portrait where Gabrielle was currently slumped against the frame, bored and rolling her eyes.

"In the summer prior to my final year at Beauxbatons," Fleur smiled.

"That was right before the tournament, wasn't it?" Ron inquired innocently.

"I suppose so, yes," Fleur shrugged distantly. Hermione squeezed her lover's hand for support. "It was years ago, nonetheless, a souvenir from a distant land and time. I am of the belief, however, that the tournament is not the happiest nor best suited of conversation topics for a rainy Sunday afternoon in February."

Harry nodded silently in agreement. The two of them had never spoken about the tournament and, unless she was mistaken, neither seemed to feel that it was necessary. She was sure that yes, the conversation was bound to come up. Eventually. In time. But now there was a mutual desire to move on with their lives. Sometimes she wondered how Harry must feel—he had not entered under his volition, like Fleur. His participation was all a complicated maneuver to bring about the second rise of Lord Voldemort, to kill Harry. And as a result, he had been a laughing stock for almost an entire year.

"It cannot have been all that bad, can it? I mean, that is where you met Hermione," Ginny pressed, probably trying to save her brother while not putting her boyfriend (or Fleur) in too much discomfort.

Fleur smiled at this, exchanging a warm glance with Hermione. "In every tragedy, a silver lining I suppose. My parents met during the war, but my mother is loath to discuss that time. And why should she? Many terrible, inexcusable events occurred—on both sides. I suppose I am the same with the tournament. Wonderful things happen in the darkest times, but the setting is still the darkness. Some of us are not always willing to revisit them for that reason, I suppose."

"But your father loves that story Fleur," Hermione interjected.

"Then perhaps I am luckier than my mother as you do not seem to enjoy discussing the tournament," Fleur smiled softly. "However, our story does not become romantic until years later and I would not mind hearing that recounted. My parents, no matter how romantic… I am afraid my father will never be able to recount it anywhere near my mother. Besides, his favorite story is not how they met but how my mother saved him."

Hermione frowned. "You're right, she always interrupted. Even if she wasn't around, suddenly she'd be there to change the subject…"

"My mother, she has a second sense about my father," Fleur shrugged innocently, hoping that someday she too would have that with Hermione.

"Well, can we hear it now?" Parvati piped up, placing her teacup down on the table. "I mean, if you would like to. It would be nice to hear a romantic story after all these essays on Goblin Rebellions and healing potions. My mind is reeling with all these dates."

"There is not much to tell really. They met during the war in the French Resistance. My mother fell instantly in love, as we with veela blood do," she motioned with her teacup towards the portrait of her parents shortly after the war. Tristan held Apolline tenderly in his arms and kissed her softly on the neck. "However he was engaged to another woman at the time, a woman he had known since his first year of school, which posed some great difficulty to my mother as you can imagine. While we Delacours do not always play exactly by the rules, we also do not steal away other people's lovers. It is a matter of pride and principles." Fleur returned her teacup to its saucer, which was poised gracefully on her crossed leg.

"So, what happened? I mean, obviously…" Pavarti leaned in.

"The other woman, Isabelle, was…" Fleur picked her teacup back up, trying to discern the best way to put it. "Well she died. Tragically. In the war, I would imagine. It is not actually spoken about in any direct manner."

"Isabelle…" Hermione nearly whispered, looking at Fleur strangely, her eyes darting over her parents. Fleur smiled, shifting slightly, never quite sure how to react when people learned the truth behind her middle name.

"So your mother comforted your father and then…?" Lavender nodded, smiling.

"No. They were friends, yes, however she gave him his space and time to heal. There was a war, after all, and he was recovering from the death of the woman he loved. She wanted to be respectful of that, I imagine."

"But I mean, eventually…?" Lavender pressed.

"Of course, eventually." Fleur leaned back, as if to say the story was completed. She took a sip of her tea and showed no intention of continuing.

"You honestly don't think you can stop the story there," Ginny pressed. "There is obviously more to tell or else your father wouldn't love to tell the story. As you leave it, it doesn't seem like a story he would like to tell so much."

"No," Fleur agreed. "I told you the part he normally does not include."

"So what does your Father usually tell?" Harry, who seemed to share Ginny's interest, asked. Or perhaps he, like Fleur, simply wanted to keep the topic away from the tournament.

For a moment, Fleur blew over the top of tea, a look of quiet contemplation crossing her face before deciding to continue the story. "Towards the end of the war, he was captured and was being tortured near to the point of death or insanity for information. My mother went rogue and, going against all orders and common sense, saved him in a foolish, near-kamikaze one-woman rescue attempt. Really, it is miraculous both of them survived and that she was able to find a job in the Ministry afterwards. However, it was also apparently extremely romantic."

Looking up from her tea, the Frenchwoman was met with everyone looking at her curiously. Their eyes wide, expectant. The strangeness of this was enough to snap Fleur out of her reverie. And so she shrugged playfully. "Oh, do you desire a recount of the entire rescue?" she asked innocently.

"Obviously," Lavender looked nearly to the point of death.

"Well," Fleur took a long drink of her tea. "It was in April, I believe, years before the Dark Lord was first defeated by you, Harry. My father, you see, is an expert in ancient magical artifacts, more of a scholar and an idealist than a warrior. He was captured partly for this knowledge and partly for his activity in the resistance. His relationship with my mother was just in its beginning stages. However when my mother found out about his capture, she nearly went crazy. They ordered for her to wait for more information to be uncovered about where they took him and how many were holding him. Of course my mother could not just wait, she has never been the best with following directions. It is a tendency that runs in the Delacour family. The minute she discovered where he was… well perhaps it is not hard to imagine."

Fleur continued the story with everyone, Ron included, sitting at the edge of their seats. It was a wonderful feeling, the realization that the rapt attention was earned through her story and not her veela charms. A rarity in non-veela circles.

* * *

Alone in Fleur's bedroom, that night Fleur and Hermione told their own love story on each other's bodies. Mouths on skin, hands slowly becoming bolder. Fleur was aware that they had never gone this far before, and kept her eyes carefully on her girlfriend to make sure that she was comfortable with where they were, with where they were headed. But perhaps it was the Frenchwoman's own insecurities as it seemed as if Hermione was (once again) the one leading the charge.

Carefully, with smiling concentration, Hermione unbuttoned the top of Fleur's nightshirt revealing the skin underneath. Her fingers slowly traced down the garment before pushing it aside. The cold night air surrounded Fleur, hugging her body. But this was all distant; her awareness was far too focused to notice the night air.

For a moment, Hermione merely took in the sight of Fleur before moving forward to take a breast in her mouth, grazing it slightly with her teeth. She whispered, wondering if this was okay.

And all Fleur could do was nod, biting her lip in pleasure, gasping for breath. Her own hands fumbled at Hermione's nightshirt. Finally pulling the shirt over the brunette's head there was another moment where they just existed before each other topless. In all their nights together, they had never gotten this far. Baby steps. Forward.

But when their bodies finally came back together, Fleur wondered how they could have waited this long. The sensation of skin against skin was enough to drive both crazy. It was unlike any other thing Fleur had ever before experienced. Soft and yet torturous. She wanted more. It felt as if Hermione could never be close enough. And Fleur wanted to spend the rest of her life trying to get that close.

But if they did not stop soon, Fleur was not sure if she would be able to stop. She could feel every aspect of restraint drain out of her and slip past her fingers as she moved upwards to Hermione's naked breast.

And she felt it almost as if it was a physical object slowly, quickly starting to slip away. The walls, her restraint beginning to crumble.

Hesitantly, going against every urge screaming from inside her and seeping out from every pore, she pulled her hand away, braced herself against the bed frame. She bit her lip trying to find that extra ounce of control. Hermione, unaware of the change in her girlfriend, delicately led Fleur down onto her back, a trail of kisses down her stomach.

With all the strength left in Fleur, her hand shakily reached out and touched Hermione's face. Please stop. We need to stop.

Hermione looked up tenderly.

"I… we should not have sex tonight." Fleur's words were barely a ragged whisper. "I am not… we are not… I am not ready."

"No one said anything about sex tonight," Hermione straightened up, her face confused.

"No. But I am afraid that if we continue, I am not going to be able to control myself for much longer," Fleur tried to smile weakly, forcing the words out.

"Hm," Hermione nodded playfully behind lidded eyes. "I am simply too irresistible for you, am I?"

"Now you are teasing me," Fleur grinned, somewhat pained. It was true. And as she spoke ever fiber of her being screamed out to pounce, to gain that release, that relief. That connection.

"Well, how about this?" Hermione shifted her position so she was still lying on top of Fleur but in a more platonic position. Or, at as platonic as one could be when they were both topless. "Can we do this?"

Fleur nodded slowly, smiling softly. For the moment, she focused in on her breathing to center herself.

The night was silent, calm. The full moon shined in through the window casting a glow on the dark room. Hermione lay on top of Fleur, propped up on her elbows, their legs tangled underneath the sheet. Both breathed deeply, chests heaving up against each other. Fleur concentrated, as she often did when trying to calm herself down, on trying to synchronize her breathing with Hermione's. Shifting slightly Hermione ran a finger down Fleur's bare chest.

"How about this?"

Again, Fleur nodded silently.

And so Hermione's finger explored lazily, looping and curving around. Her finger paused right below Fleur's neck.

"Fleur, your neck."

"My neck?" Fleur, who had been contently watching her lover silently, now scrunched her face in confusion. She reached her hand up to her neck to inspect. "What about my neck?"

"I'm really, truly sorry Fleur," Hermione tried to hold in a laughter, as Fleur kept inspecting her neck with the touch of her hand.

"Sorry for what?" Fleur clasped her neck, not quite sure what the joke was or if she truly wanted to know. "What is so amusing about my neck?"

"When did your skin become so sensitive?" Hermione observed thoughtfully behind a half-smirk, her finger tracing a small shape on the side of Fleur's neck.

"Sensitive?" Fleur blinked, the realization slowly coming from her. "You do not mean… you  _do_  mean…"

"At least in this moonlight, it looks like I gave you a hickey. Was I really… that hard?"

"What?" Fleur's fingers were now rubbing the area below Hermione's fingers with an almost nervous energy. Her senses slow to come to reality.

"Ssssh," Hermione smiled, dropping her hand slightly to still Fleur's hands, intertwining their fingers. "That's only going to make it worse."

"A hickey? On my neck?"

"You know, broken blood vessels in the skin forming a somewhat semi-circular, mouth-like shape." Hermione broke out laughing. "Really, Fleur. It's a hickey. Just wear a scarf for a few days. It can't last long, can it?"

Fleur arched an eyebrow up and sighed. "And what were you doing, marking your territory?"

"I didn't realize I had to," Hermione pouted playfully. "But yes, since you ask, if it's in my mouth, it's mine."

Fleur propped herself up just enough to softly kiss Hermione. "You are right, there is no need. And your logic is… astounding."

"Astoundingly hormonal, you mean."

"If it's in your mouth…"

"It's mine," Hermione smiled playfully as she placed Fleur's fingers in her mouth and sucked then gently for a second. "See, mine." And then Hermione moved further south, finding Fleur's nipple to further illustrate her point. And there was simply no arguing logic like that.

* * *

Fleur's awoke abruptly to a loud, pounding, rhythmic noise. She propped herself up slightly to listen to it better, drawing the blanket around her to cover her still bare chest from the cold night air.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered, also straining past the darkness and the thin fog of sleep to hear, to recognize the noise.

There was a moment of pause, of silent reprieve before the noise repeated itself, louder and more insistent. Urgent. 

"Someone's knocking," Fleur observed, stating the obvious for lack of a better statement to make. "On the door."

"What time is it?" Hermione squinted out the window as if the stars would whisper the time.

"Late," Fleur supplied, sluggish in her own waking up process.

"I know that," Hermione grumbled.

"Close your eyes, I am going to turn on the light," Fleur reached for the light switch. For a second, they were both blinded by the sudden brightness. In that time, the knocking came again. Louder still. Urgent.

"Merlin, it's four in the morning." Fleur groaned.

"Who is it?"

Fleur arched her eyebrow up.

"Right," Hermione bit her lip. "Guess we should answer it."

"You stay here," Fleur reluctantly pulled herself out of her warm bed, out of her lover's arms. She reached for her bathrobe to fight off the immediate coldness of her room. Part of her knew that she shouldn't answer the door in just her underwear and bathrobe, but the only real awake part of her couldn't seem to care. Besides the bathrobe covered everything. (Mostly everything. Enough of everything.)

"No, I'm coming with you," Hermione protested. Out of bed, she pulled a shirt over her body—the one Fleur had been wearing earlier that evening—buttoning it hastily before tugging on pair of pajama pants—also Fleur's—and the blanket around her shivering body. Fleur watched her lover dress, as she always did, but this time to the soundtrack of the thudding knocks.

The knocking, now approaching the description of thunderous, pulled any protest that was forming on Fleur's lips. "Fine. But stay back. Just in case." Just in case. Just in case of what? Just in case Hermione needed to slip upstairs and use the portkey to get back to her room. Nothing good came from such a late, unexpected visit.

Hermione nodded slightly. The knocking was too loud for any protests, thudding against their skulls knocking out logical thoughts and full sentences.

"Coming!" Fleur called out as they made their way down the stairs, stumbling slightly in the dark.

At the front door, as promised, Hermione stayed back, giving Fleur's hand a quick squeeze before settling into the shadows of the hallway where she could easily slip back upstairs. Fleur looked at her lover one last time before she opened the door.

There, in the darkness before, stood three familiar faces, Professor McGonagall and the two others she recognized instantly but from photographs. She was suddenly very aware of how she was standing, half naked under a thin, stained silk bathrobe, her coldness poking obviously through the garment. And behind her, Hermione wrapped in a blanket clearly wearing her clothes. Fleur's hand shot up to her neck in an attempt to cover the hickey.

"Please, do come in," her voice shook as she tried to smile courteously, fearing she probably fell short of that.

She opened the door further and stepped aside to let the three adults into the hallway. Turning, she braved to look at Hermione, whose features looked as shocked and as pale as Fleur knew hers to be. The blanket dropped to the floor, pooling Hermione's feet revealing Fleur's monogrammed initials on the poorly buttoned nightshirt.

"Mother. Father. What are you doing here?"


	30. The Visitors

**I** t was moments like these that Fleur felt overly (and uncomfortably) aware of her surroundings. Overly aware of how her thin, coffee-stained silk bathrobe clung to her otherwise mostly naked frame, of how her thighs were just barely respectably covered, of how she shivered in the hallway. Of how the fabric threatened to slip open and reveal her bare chest. (What had she been thinking when it seemed acceptable to answer the door only in underwear and a bathrobe? Nothing. She had been thinking nothing.) Of how without looking, she knew that the chill of the night air was being made apparent through her garment. Her nervous hands were occupied with holding her bathrobe shut and attempting to cover the hickey on her neck whose exact location eluded her. Because of this she spread out her fingers out across her bare skin in an attempt to cover up as much of her neck as possible. Even while knowing that this only called further attention to the already noticeable blemish.

Fleur was overly aware of how Hermione's voice cracked as it uttered the words that now reverberated through the silent hallway. "Mother. Father. What are you doing here?" The words bounced off Hermione's teeth and the walls, ricocheting off her parents, off McGonagall, only to be lost in the carpet, in the folds of the blanket that now pooled at Hermione's feet. The blanket Hermione had brought down for warmth.

The blanket that now revealed the brunette shivering in a thin pair of Fleur's pajamas, the other half of the matching set with Fleur's bathrobe. Poorly buttoned. Skewed on her frame, obviously hastily thrown on. The large curling monogrammed initials of F.I.D still legible and apparent for Hermine's parents to see.

Hermione's parents who were fully dressed in warm, practical, reliable winter clothing. Fleur was struck by how utterly  _normal_  Hermione's parents seemed, even more so than she had been by their photographs. They were of average height, of average build; her father had a mustache, her mother's bushy hair was pulled back in a loose bun. How did they bring about such a remarkable daughter? What was she missing? They stood next to McGonagall, prim and proper. Fully dressed. Warm and uncomfortable.

Unlike Fleur and Hermione, who were half naked and cold, but just as uncomfortable. It was hard to say who, if anyone was more uncomfortable, more surprised in that moment.

Moments like these seemed almost funny. Almost. Fleur wished she could laugh or do anything besides standing there and staring, trying to make herself acceptable out of nothing.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

Goldie attempted to take everyone's coats and jackets until McGonagall swatted it away. The dejected coat rack now cowered in the corner, confused, unable to carry out its function.

And it felt like years ago when she and Hermione had laid in bed peacefully. Decades since Hermione had given her the hickey on her neck.

It felt like years before anyone said anything.

"What are we doing here?" Hermione's father—why couldn't Fleur remember his name?—broke, shattered the silence. His voice new to Fleur's ears, mostly unreadable in its novelty, but clearly frustrated, cracking under some new pain. "We came here looking for you! It's four in the morning. What are  _you_  doing here?"

"This can all be explained," Fleur started, her voice getting ahead of herself. Explained; this? How? How does one explain this situation in these circumstances and have it go well?

"And who are you?" His words were barely a whisper, as if he did not actually want to know the answer. He had been staring at Fleur since she had opened the door in a mix of horror and confusion. (Unlike his wife, who was looking anywhere but, her eyes nervously flickering around the room. Were the signs of Hermione's daily, intimate presence easily noticeable in the hallway?) 

But here was where Fleur's voice failed her, she opened her mouth but found she was unable to make any form of introduction. Hermione, eyes locked on the floor, seemed similarly struck speechless.

McGonagall coughed. "Thomas and Lucy Granger, this is… Professor Fleur Delacour."

Fleur cringed inwardly as she stepped forward, careful to keep one hand on her bathrobe for some sense of decency, and shook the hands of Hermione's parents. Stiffly. It was clearly apparent that no one actually felt like touching each other at the moment. However the formalities had to be observed. For without formalities, who would they be but savages? Fleur tried to smile winningly. Who knows if she succeeded in merely smiling? Her face felt more like a grimace. It was all too surreal.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Fleur spoke, her voice sounding strange even to her own ears, dislocated as if it belonged to other vocal chords, another throat not quite her own. Her voice was a swirling mixture of confusion, fear, an attempt to keep it all controlled and together after just having woken up abruptly. It still crackled from the few hours of sleep.

"Professor," Thomas repeated slowly. His voice was deeper than Fleur had imagined.

"Please, call me Fleur," Fleur gained more control of her smile, shaky though it remained around the edges. Pretending as if he had said professor as greeting when she knew full well he was merely repeating her title. "We apologize for the inconvenience. If we had known you were coming…"

But if they had known that Hermione's parents were coming, then what? (And should she have said I—if I had known you were coming?) Her words—were they hers?—made it sound as if she would have merely swept the floor, tidied those hard to reach places, bought better biscuits for tea. And that wasn't what she had meant at all—though she was sure that too would have helped. As would have taking another thirty seconds to put on a shirt, some pants. A scarf. Perhaps in the poor lighting her hickey was not clearly visible?

"You are… are you one of Hermione's professors?" Thomas asked, eyeing Fleur in a way that made her once again try to cover the hickey with her hand. The poor lighting would not hide it, not from parental eyes.

"My concentration of study is Defense Against the Dark Arts," Fleur replied distractedly, knowing full well she was not answering his question. She thought it was best for all if she currently abstained from that directly. "Would you all care to come into the parlor? It is far more… comfortable than the entryway. There is a fire. I can make some tea. We should talk there. Please."

"Thank you, but we actually need to get going. There are things we need to attend to. Hermione?" Lucy spoke, trying to smile politely before turning to her daughter, her eyes falling everywhere but on Fleur.

Fleur was struck by how white and perfectly straight Lucy and Thomas' teeth were. But then again weren't they, what did Hermione call them? Dentists. Tooth doctors. And Fleur wondered why she was noticing something like that at a time like this.

"If you are her professor, what is she doing at your house at four in the morning?" Thomas insisted, his fists turning white, interrupting both his wife and daughter, his eyes still fixated on Fleur.

When no one said anything, McGonagall coughed again. "Hermione, your parents came to speak with you about a private family matter. Perhaps Professor Delacour and I should—" Why, at this moment, did McGonagall have to insist on using the prefix Professor?

"No. Fleur stays." Hermione shook her head, breaking her silence and taking a step closer to Fleur, interrupting her professor, the Head of her house.

At this point their bodies, miles apart in some sense, were almost touching. Was that appropriate at a time like this?

"I want Fleur to stay. Just tell me what's going on." Hermione insisted.

"That's what I'd like to know," Thomas' persistent, judgmental eyes made Fleur uncomfortable, shift from foot to foot, and grip her bathrobe tighter.

She could feel the ends of her body through the tightness of her garment; all the contours of her body were easily visible, pressing through the fabric. And Fleur realized that this was perhaps not appropriate either. However she could not loosen her death grip.

This is not how students and professors stand next to each other. This is not how they dress in each other's presence.

"Thomas, this is not the issue right now. We have to…" Lucy shot her husband a look. It softened maternally as her gaze shifted to Hermione. "Hermione, please. We did not expect to find you… like this, but please we need you to come with us now. It's about your grandmother."

"My grandmother?" Hermione's voice sounded hollow. Almost instinctually she took another step closer to Fleur.

Another step further and it would become clearly evident that they were lovers. As if it wasn't abundantly clear already.

Fleur wished that she could reach out and hold her lover's hand, comfort her in some way. But her eyes were locked on Hermione's father, whose skin seemed pale, ashen. His eyes sad and upset. And Fleur knew that she could not, not now. And this hurt more than the charade in the school hallways. It nearly burned Fleur from the inside out not to be able to reach out and give even the slightest form of physical comfort when Hermione so clearly needed it.

"Please, we should not keep Ms. Ratiu waiting, dear. We can explain it to you on our way. After you… after you get dressed." Lucy continued. "We can talk about tonight later. But not now. She is waiting for us in Hogsmeade. I think it would be best if we just met her now and had a good night sleep. We can all talk… about this in the morning." She repeated herself, seemingly unsure of what to say but needing to say something just the same.

Fleur had never met Ms. Ratiu. She had no need to. But she knew of her and her colleagues. Beauxbatons had similar members on staff, Muggle experts who worked directly with the Muggle parents. Often they were Muggle-born themselves. They sometimes hand delivered letters of acceptance, aided in buying supplies at Diagon Alley, answered phone calls (it was standard procedure in most schools that one was always kept for the sake of the Muggle parents), helped transport parents to the school for graduation and in times of emergencies.

"No," Hermione stomped her foot on the ground, her voice growing in insistence. "Tell me now. What about my grandmother?"

"First tell us what you are doing here," Thomas insisted, his frustration level clearly rising.

"Hermione, we don't have time," Lucy sighed in frustration.

"You don't have time to tell me why you came here, but he has time to interrogate me? No. What about my grandmother?" Hermione gritted her teeth, seemingly digging in her heels. "Tell me now or I'm not coming with you."

"Ms. Ratiu, please. We can't keep her waiting." Lucy, the peacekeeper of the family, stubborn in her own right, persisted, pleaded.

"If you won't come with us now, then you can arrange to come in the morning. Or not at all. I don't care," Thomas snapped. "We just thought that since she was your grandmother, you'd have some decency—" Was, that dreaded word, that feared past tense.

"Thomas!" Lucy stomped her foot on the ground silencing her husband, but the damage was already done.

Slowly, Fleur began putting together a small Granger family portrait of their idiosyncrasies, the stubbornness, the foot stomping.

"Hermione, all I am asking is for you to tell us why you are at your professor's house at four in the morning." Thomas voice was softer, pleading, a different technique, a different approach but his eyes remained the same.

"Fleur's…" Hermione bit her lip, her eyes darted to Fleur, searching for hope, for an answer. Finding something reassuring on her lover's face, she nodded. "We were sleeping."

Fleur bit her lip and looked up, her eyes directly meeting Thomas'. There were no words to describe adequately the look on his face, reminiscent of the face Hermione made in Fleur's classroom right before their first kiss in the crowded hallway. Shocked, frightened, disgusted, horrified. Fleur dared not look at Lucy, her eyes returning to the safe, comfortable, familiar Hermione.

"It is four in the morning. So naturally, when you knocked, we were sleeping. I sleep here most nights. Fleur's my girlfriend. She has been for a while now." Hermione clarified, growing braver with each syllable.

Hermione's parents stood in Fleur's hallway dressed in their warm, practical clothing. Dumbfounded. It was the answer they secretly had been expecting, assuming, dreading since their arrival on Fleur's doorstep. And now there was no avoiding it, no what ifs, no strange scenarios to otherwise explain the circumstance they now found themselves in. And then barely audible in a soft, broken voice before anyone had a chance to respond, Hermione continued. "She's dead, isn't she? My grandmother. She's dead." A void. An emptiness in her mouth, in her words.

Thomas nodded stiffly, his mouth open but words failing him altogether.

"Why couldn't you just have told me? Why?" The pain shredded Hermione's vocal chords. Fleur wished to never hear that sound again for as long as she lived.

The silence in the hallway returned, covering, enveloping. Suffocating. The truth was out and no one knew what to say, how to act, how to respond. Hermione swallowed. Tried to breath. Tried to blink it away. Slowly her body merely crumpled to the floor. Her face twisted in anguish, in shock, in trying to realize the actuality.

Instinctually Fleur followed Hermione to the floor and scooped her lover up in her arms. Fleur could feel Hermione's heart beating wildly against her own chest, thumping in a manner Fleur had herself only experienced a few times, always in tragedy. Always in times of death. As if her heart was trying to prove that yes, yes I am still alive. Alive. Even if you're not. I am. Alive. And I will beat for the both of us now. And for a moment, in that silence, the tears did not come. Fleur could hear the shifting of weight, of clothes. Hermione's parents, McGonagall, no one knowing what to do. Fleur held onto her lover all the more tightly. But the tears did come, they streamed down Hermione's face, easily soaking through Fleur's bathrobe, wetting the French woman's skin.

"Girlfriend?" Thomas found his voice, torn between his daughter's pain and his daughter's declaration.

"There are far more important matters to attend to beyond our relationship currently," Fleur tried to keep her voice soft as she looked up at her girlfriend's father, her potential future father-in-law.

"Your… relationship," Thomas repeated. He almost seemed to laugh, but perhaps he was holding back tears himself. If Fleur was not mistaken, his mother had just died and, on the same night, he discovered his daughter was dating her female professor. She did not envy this man.

"Please, Ms. Ratiu…" Lucy implored, clinging to the threads of what she thought should happen, some semblance of order, structure and comforting obligation.

"Can wait. I am sure she understands the situation," Fleur interrupted. "Hermione needs a moment."

"She has been waiting for some time already. It took us a while to… locate Hermione." Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she played with her earring slightly with her finger. It did not escape Fleur that Lucy still had yet to look at her directly.

"I am truly and deeply sorry for your loss and also for the inconvenience you have experienced while locating your daughter this evening. Furthermore, I apologize for how it has affected Ms. Ratiu," Fleur spoke carefully. "If you would like, you can meet her in town now and Hermione will join you shortly after she has a moment to process and get dressed. You certainly cannot expect her to make the distance in pajamas."

There was a moment of silence. Merlin, Fleur could not handle much more of this silence.

"Please, I think it would be best," Fleur implored.

"And who are you too—" Thomas glared.

"Someone who cares deeply for your daughter, please. I hardly think that this is the time. I will gladly discuss our relationship and your concerns at another, more conducive moment. For now I am merely requesting that you to consider your daughter in this matter and give her a few minutes to collect herself and to get dressed before she joins you." Fleur did not want to get into a war of wills. But on this matter she would not budge.

"I just need a few moments," Hermione's voice came from the nook in Fleur's neck, tickling Fleur's skin slightly. "To get dressed. Please. I'm coming with you."

"We will wait in the hallway," Thomas nodded stubbornly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You… you get ready and gather yourself."

Hermione stood silently, Fleur helping her to her feet.

"We will be back in a moment. If you would prefer, you can take a seat and wait in the parlor. It is, as I said earlier, a far more comfortable room than the entryway." Fleur spoke, knowing full well that when they returned, the Grangers would still be standing uncomfortably in the entryway. Carefully, Fleur guided her lover back up the stairs to the bedroom.

* * *

In the respite of Fleur's room, Hermione sat on the edge of Fleur's (their) bed wordlessly, staring at Fleur as several emotions crossed her face. The bed was rumpled, unmade and ransacked by their sudden, hasty awakening. By now the strewn sheets had lost the lingering warmth of their skin. The mattress had yet to lose the memory of their bodies, two small imprints so close they almost melded into one.

Fleur moved throughout her bureau and closest, pulling out her only pair of jeans, a comfortable turtleneck, a soft, blue shirt, and the jumper she always wore when upset. The turtleneck she pulled over her body, feeling suddenly more comfortable in her decency, more at home in her own skin. The rest she handed to Hermione before finding a skirt she could slip on.

"Oh, I… I have my own clothes," Hermione glanced towards the discarded garments on the floor.

"Your school uniform?" Fleur shook her head pulling on her skirt, relieved that her outfit, while in no way exemplifying her fashion tastes, in the very least matched and covered a respectable portion of her body. "I do not think it is appropriate."

"Because you are my professor."

"Because the skirt will not keep you warm as you walk to Hogsmeade." Fleur's eyes flickered around the room. What happened to their impenetrable safety in her (their) home? "Yes, and that. I would rather not remind them too much of our student and professor status. It is a great deal for them to handle, I imagine."

"My grandmother's dead…" Hermione bit her lip but the tears came anyway.

Fleur crouched down to eye level with Hermione and wiped a few of the tears away delicately with her fingers, more of a gesture against the impeding flood, before wrapping Hermione in her arms. There was nothing she could say, so she did not say anything. Instead Fleur kissed her softly over and over and over again on the forehead breathing in the comforting scent of her shampoo. Hermione sobbed in ragged, suffocating breaths that shook her entire body.

And when she had finished, Fleur wiped her eyes again and Hermione dressed in her girlfriend's clothing.

"This is your favorite jumper," Hermione looked down, her hands gripping the cuffs of the soft, slightly oversized garment.

"You need it more than me right now," Fleur smiled softly, tucking away an errant strand of Hermione's hair. "If you would wish, I could—" Fleur started, but Hermione shook her head.

"It is best, I think, if you did not come for now."

Fleur closed her eyes and nodded. "I understand," she whispered.

Hermione found her bag at the edge of the bed, checked a few of the items and threw it over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

Fleur stood up stiffly.

"And Fleur?"

Fleur looked up as Hermione approached her, captured her lips hungrily, dwelling, refusing to relinquish her hold easily. Hermione seemed to search, to hunt for something in Fleur's embrace and Fleur hoped desperately she gave it to her, that she had it in her whatever it was that her lover was searching for.

"I love you." Hermione whispered as they pulled apart. Fleur barely heard it, but the declaration hung on the edges of their world nonetheless.

"I love you too." Fleur smiled softly. In every tragedy…

And as she spoke, she felt it. A look of recognition passed between them. Hermione's eyes glanced down at the necklace that she never took off. There was a change, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, impossible to describe but there it was nonetheless. A closer proximity to oneness. Even the shape seemed slightly different.

"You do realize that now we…" Even then, even now Fleur was scared to say it. So incredibly happy and yet conflicted. Was it right? Had Hermione said it out of panic, out of grief?

"I know," Hermione smiled softly. "I wanted to tell you earlier but I did not know if you were ready to hear it. But I… now is not the time for hesitation, if it ever was. I love you, Fleur. And I need you to know that before I leave."

It all seemed so new, so fresh in Fleur's ears.

"I love you Hermione. So much."

"I know. I can feel it." Hermione touched her chest where her heart was as if to indicate where.

Forward.

Sealed.

Back down the stairs. There was no turning back.

* * *

The hallway had a suffocating, awkward atmosphere when they returned. Stubborn, grieving Thomas with his equally stubborn, peacekeeping wife. The always prim and proper McGonagall. Fleur and Hermione with their new hidden happiness, unknowing fear over what would happen next, grief. Youthful assurances that everything would be fine. It had to be. (Right?)

Hermione wordlessly accepted one of Fleur's winter coats as if it was her own. There was no other option. The brunette had left hers in Gryffindor. There was no need for it as she was planning on returning via portkey in the morning. If Hermione's parents noticed this new winter coat, how it did not quite fit their daughter or necessarily match her style, they chose at least for the moment not to comment.

The two women kissed goodbye chastely, on the cheek, fully aware of the eyes upon them. It was almost an after thought, as if they knew better but still could not bear to part without some form of physical affection.

Walking out the door, Hermione turned to look over her shoulder one last time at Fleur. And there was so much in that silence, that wordless encounter that Fleur could not begin to dissect the love, the happiest, sorrow, grief, the anxiety. The warmth mixed up in it all.

And as the door closed behind them, Fleur was immediately struck by the utter lack of noise. It was crushing, crumpling. Fleur slid against the wall down to the floor, burying her face in her knees, her ears in her hands trying to block out the silence. The absence. The emptiness. She could barely process what was happening. She had never felt so close to Hermione and yet she could almost physically feel Hermione walk away.

Fleur had no idea how long she remained in that position, her mind racing, her face smiling, her heart elated and torn, her body longing painfully for Hermione. She had not stirred when once again there was a knock on the door. Slowly, numbly she found herself on her feet opening the door.

"I have nothing left for you to take, McGonagall. You have taken everything." Fleur spoke before she realized her mouth was open.

"Fleur… can I come in?" McGonagall's tone was soft, imploring.

Fleur stood aside, nodding numbly, closing the night's coldness behind the older woman. She led McGonagall into the kitchen. Fleur could not handle her family's portraits in that moment.

"I came to see if you were okay. Do you mind if I make some tea?" McGonagall led Fleur to a chair at the kitchen table.

"I should really be the one who—"

"No, Fleur. Allow me this time," McGonagall shook her head, silencing the younger woman.

"The tea is in the upper cabinet on the right next to the—"

"Really, Fleur, I believe I can manage a kitchen," McGonagall shook her head. "Just sit for a while."

Fleur watched wordlessly as McGonagall filled the kettle with the water and set it to boil. With minimal rummaging, McGonagall found the tea, the cups, cream, sugar and two spoons. At one point, McGonagall opened up a kitchen cupboard filled with books. She turned around to face Fleur, upon realizing that books were not cookbooks, confused.

"Do you not have an adequate library here in England or do all Veelas store their books in the kitchen?"

"No, I was just… hiding them." Fleur looked down, suddenly embarrassed and amused by her actions. "From Hermione."

"I know she is a voracious reader but…" McGonagall arched up her eyebrow. "What are you keeping from her?" McGonagall took out a book and read the title aloud. " _Behind the Pictures That Do Not Move: Understanding Muggle-borns in the Wizarding World_."

"They are books that Burbage recommended to me. I was preparing for when I would meet Hermione's parents," Fleur shook her head. "I was hoping they would serve me better."

"No one was prepared for what happened, Fleur." McGonagall returned the book back to its place among the others and closed the cabinet door.

Fleur sighed. "I could have dressed a little better."

"Well, there is that, yes." A pause, McGonagall turned around from the kettle looking as if she was about to say something and then shook her head, returning her attention to the tea.

Within minutes the tea was seeping and steaming in front of them on the kitchen table. In the distance Fleur's clock chimed six in the morning. It had always been a comforting sound, but now it only seemed oddly hollow to Fleur's ears.

"It seems like neither of us are going to get back to sleep tonight." McGonagall poured a cup for herself and Fleur. "Cream or sugar?"

Fleur shook her head to both and silently accepted her tea, for a moment simply staring at it. Any idea of how she should act had long escaped her. The concept of even drinking the tea in front of her seemed a foreign concept. She did not have many words left; her mind stuck on loop about the night's events, starting in the bedroom and ending with the look on Thomas and Lucy's faces, the door closing.

"I am sorry that it had to happen that way, Fleur. I tried to come get Hermione personally the minute I realized she was not in her room, but I was not as discreet as I should have been. Thomas was very insistent on coming along."

"The Grangers are a stubborn family," Fleur picked up her tea and blew on it. "Really, I had hoped our first meeting would have proceeded better, however we need not speak of such things. I am apparently cursed to horrible first impressions with the Granger family," Fleur tried to smile. "I do not blame you in the least. Hermione and I were careless." Fleur, despite all that happened, could not quite regret it. Hermione had said I love you. Fleur could wish but wishing was a silly thing to do with the past.

"There was no way of foreseeing tonight's events. However, despite that, I still believe that tonight was avoidable," McGonagall placed down her teacup. "If I had known that Hermione was spending her nights here with such frequency… Matters would have been handled differently. But perhaps I should have merely assumed considering."

Fleur looked down at her teacup. She had informed Dumbledore but telling McGonagall had completely escaped her. And it was not as if students would openly tell their Head of House whose bed they were actually sleeping in. So naturally McGonagall would have no idea how far their relationship had progressed and had looked for Hermione in her dormitory first.

"I apologize for the accidental deceit," was all Fleur could find to say.

For a while, the two women simply drank their tea watching the first signs of sunrise.

"Why are you here, McGonagall?" Fleur placed her tea down, truly looking at the woman.

"To see how you are doing, of course," McGonagall also placed down her teacup.

"You return to my house after escorting my girlfriend and her parents to Hogsmeade. It is not that I doubt your good intentions, but you insist on making me tea in my own kitchen. It could not have gone well." Fleur shook her head. "What did her parents say?"

McGonagall's exhaled. "You must consider the circumstances. Thomas' mother has just passed this evening and they received, well, rather a shock this morning."

Fleur bit her lip. "I am considering the circumstances and my relationship is at stake. Please. I know that it could not have been a pleasant walk, but I need to know."

"Thomas was not… pleased," McGonagall kept her eyes on her table. "Livid, actually."

Fleur nodded numbly. She had expected as much, it confirmed the nasty feeling brewing in her stomach. "I could have assumed as much."

"He believes you to be… well, no matter."

"You mean to say that he thinks that I have seduced his daughter and I am manipulating her, that I am taking advantage of his beloved child," Fleur clarified, her voice trembling underneath her frustration.

"He is going to request to meet with Dumbledore after the funeral, or so he says. As the Head of Gryffindor, it is within my capacity to be there as well." McGonagall made no attempt to deny Fleur's comments. "And considering my current role in these events, I plan on attending."

"He wishes to demand why Dumbledore allowed this atrocity to occur in his school where he and his wife have entrusted their only child." She ran her finger along with the rim of her teacup. Fleur did her best to remain her composure. "I love her. With all my heart." Her voice softer, almost pleading, as if it were up to the Transfiguration Professor.

"I would think it would be in your best interest to be at this meeting when it does occur," McGonagall continued. "To prove the sincerity behind your intentions. And to explain the finer intricacies of courtship ritual to her parents."

Fleur nodded, her face flushing slightly. The specifics of the courtship ritual was never something she wanted to discuss in detail with Hermione's parents, even in the best of scenarios. "There is no doubt that I will be there. Not to be melodramatic McGonagall, but my relationship, my life is clearly dependent on how this meeting progresses." She buried her face in her hands "Do you know if there is a time set up for it yet?"

"The funeral is on Monday," McGonagall commented after finishing her cup, holding the empty cup in her hand. "It will be some time after."

Fleur nodded. "That allows them time to prepare, to figure it out. Perhaps for the Grangers to calm down."

But Grangers do not calm down. Fleur knew this. They were stubborn and persistent with excellent memories. What would happen when Hermione was alone with her parents? What words would be said, what conclusions would be drawn? To discover that your daughter was gay and, in the same swoop, to also learn that she is dating her professor? And at such a time… Fleur could not even begin to fathom what would come of this. And one must not forget her veela heritage, the implications of forever, something they had yet to discover.

"So you understand, then, why you should go to the funeral." McGonagall finally placed down her teacup with a quiet finality. Fleur nearly dropped hers.

"I wish I could…" Hermione's words rang in her head. "But would it really be proper, considering? Would it not be best if I waited until the meeting…?" (Could she handle that?)

"Hermione needs your support, Fleur. Her parents need to know you as you are, that you love her and make her happy. That you support her in her time of need. Now is arguably not the time for small, careful steps. No. That time has most certainly been passed." McGonagall shook her head decisively.

Fleur exhaled deeply and nodded.

* * *

McGonagall left after the sun had risen, revealing a damp, cold day. Exhausted and heavy though her body was, Fleur realized that she could not quite allow herself to sleep just yet.

Her eyes lingered on the dishes in the drying rack—McGonagall had insisted on washing them before leaving. It had been a strange sight, observing McGonagall with her sleeves pushed up to her elbows washing dishes the muggle way.

But now alone without McGonagall to distract her, there was nothing to stop the night's events from running on an endlessly insistent loop through her mind. She could feel the loosening of her restraint, Hermione's lips, her I love you's. The morning lingered in her stomach, dwelled among her elbows and her fingertips. Hermione's parents overshadowing it all forming a knot in her stomach, her chest making it hard to breath, hard to swallow.

Almost without thinking, Fleur moved towards the kitchen cabinet and began sifting through the books. Towards the back, carefully stowed behind the already hidden volumes, she found the thin text she was looking for: a completely innocuous, run of the mill potions manual for veelas and those with veela blood.

Leaning up against the wall, she quickly found the necessary page, the solution she craved dog-eared towards the end of the text. The Nun's Potion, designed to damper physical arousal and sexual appetite. A medieval potion originally created to control daughters either before marriage or the convent, and often times within the convent as well. It was now mostly forgotten. Except within the veela community. And even there its use was severely looked down upon. Except for in dire situations. (Even in dire situations.)

Fleur had been feeling her restraint loosening, her hunger for Hermione growing to an uncontainable state. Knowing that the physical aspect of their relationship could not, should not be rushed at any cost, the instructions for the potion had already been committed completely to memory months in advance. The ingredients had been purchased long ago. The lengthy warning on the bottom of the page had been noted, heeded (and ignored). Fleur had promised herself that only in a time of absolute necessity would she use this potion. Such as visiting Hermione's parents after such a disastrous first impression. Such as feeling the last of her restraint slip past her fingers.

Immediately she set to work, referencing the text more out of comfort than need. Chopping. Dicing ingredients, grinding others into a fine powder. Setting contents to boil and carefully adding and stirring at the appropriate times. Leaning and sitting when she could manage.

But the night's events distracted her. And her body screamed for sleep, banging against her ribcage, exhaustion crashed against her eyelids demanding a long, dreamless sleep. Fleur could feel her attention, her focus wane, but she pushed herself forward. Stubbornly, she refused to allow herself to sleep until she had at least one thing in her control. She needed that some semblance of control.

But the repetition of mixing the potion, of controlling the temperature with her wand allowed her mind to wander. The look on Thomas' face. Lucy's darting eyes. McGonagall's coughing. How Fleur's pajamas fit on Hermione's frame, skewed, poorly buttoned. How Fleur had to roll up the legs of her pants so they fit Hermione…

All of a sudden, a jolt of pain infected and spread across Fleur's right hand. Instantly she snapped her hand back from the shock, dropping her wand into the bubbling cauldron. Cursing herself for allowing the temperature to grow far too hot causing the contents to boil over, to bubble up and sear her hand, Fleur carefully fished out her wand. The steam coming up from the cauldron did not help soothe the burn on her hand.

It was then, as she successfully fished out her wand, that there was a knock on the door.

Placing the wand down momentarily, Fleur brought her hand to her mouth, hoping her saliva would act as some sort of temporary balm. Running her tongue over the burn, she considered ignoring the door entirely. Nothing good had come of her answering it in the last twenty-four hours. The strange taste of the almost-completed potion lingered on her tongue. It would soon be near a taste she would grow to know more intimately. And it was not a taste, she noted, that she particularly enjoyed.

Lowering the temperature with her still dripping wand, she carefully inspected and compared the contents of her potion to the description the text gave in an attempt to decide if it could be salvaged. Realizing that it would be (or at least should be) fine, she let out a sigh of relief. All it needed was to simmer for an hour before adding the final ingredients.

The knock came again and Fleur finally acknowledged that her visitor would not likely go away any time soon. She might as well open the door to spare herself a headache. Placing her still dripping wand down on the coffee table, she migrated to the entryway.

Still sucking on her burning hand, she opened the door to find Dumbledore standing there inspecting her doorframe. She was unsure to be relieved or worried, but strangely she was not surprised by his arrival. If anything, some part of her had expected him sooner.

"Come in, Professor," she stood aside and welcomed Dumbledore into her home, withdrawing her hand from her mouth a bit guiltily.

He smiled warmly as he passed the threshold. Goldie still sulked in the corner and did not offer to take Dumbledore's cloak. "Cooking are we?"

"Burning more like it at the moment." Fleur smiled warily. "I thought I would brush up on my potion skills."

"An odd endeavor considering," Dumbledore remarked as she lead him into the parlor where the cauldron was suspended over the fire.

"Please take a seat. Can I offer you tea, Professor?" She smiled, trying to make herself hospitable. But she was too tired to handle any more guests, especially with half her attention was locked on the simmering potion.

He shook his head as he sat down on the sofa. "No thank you. This should hopefully be only a short visit, as you appear to greatly in need of your sleep." From within his robes he pulled out several phials of the familiar colored potion. There were over ten by the time he had finished laying them out on the coffee table. "Pomfrey just finished this batch this morning. She believes that this should be enough to tide you over."

"Enough to tide me over?" Fleur found herself in her father's armchair, her mind not able to stand up in her exhausted state.

"For the funeral and after," Dumbledore stated simply, adjusting his glasses on his face.

"The funeral and after," Fleur felt solemn as she repeated the older man's words again. She was not looking forward to the 'and after.' Fleur crossed her legs and tried to straighten out her skirt. "It is something I am exceedingly nervous about. Would it really be wise to attend the funeral without her parent's consent considering this morning?" Their faces, their assumptions about her intentions.

"I believe it would do your relationship with Granger a grave injustice if you did not support her during her time of need." Dumbledore stated simply. "Before leaving Hogwarts, I met the Grangers in Hogsmeade per Thomas' request."

Fleur nodded numbly, her mind picturing the events unfolding. Hermione and her father bickering, Lucy interjecting with her peacekeeping efforts. Or maybe Hermione followed sullenly behind her stunned, wordless parents until one side or the other burst. She wondered vaguely how Dumbledore moved through the Granger stubbornness and tempers.

"He was quite, and perhaps understandably, upset about his daughter's romantic activities and the role that the Hogwarts staff has played in them. However, he is grieving and has a funeral to arrange. For these reasons I believe he has agreed to have a meeting after the funeral and hopefully after he has had some time to calm down. But as this is a rather serious matter, we cannot let it sit by the wayside for long. Am I right in my assumptions?"

Fleur nodded reluctantly. "I… We have become sealed recently."

"Congratulations," he smiled warmly, sincerely, eyes twinkling. "The sealing is something that has concerned you for quite some time. Does one congratulate on sealing or merely just the completion of the ritual? Love on any level, I believe, achieved successfully deserves a congratulations I should think."

Fleur smiled, but she continued on, her words metered thoughtfully with a worried honesty. "However, I have been exhausted for quite some time now and in such state, even sealed… I admit to having own my doubts about my physical wellbeing and stamina even now. Perhaps after I sleep, the positive effects of the sealing will be felt more thoroughly."

"I had feared as much," Dumbledore nodded gravely with an air of concern. "I have agreed to meet to discuss your relationship with the Grangers on Tuesday. For convenience's sake, the meeting will be held at the Granger's house so I advise you to stay in the area after the funeral. If you cannot stay with the Grangers, I know some wizards in the area."

Fleur listened to his words, nodding numbly as the information passed through her.

"Another aspect of this meeting you should be aware of is that Minerva has offered to attend. As defense for your relationship and mostly, mind you, as your support, a fairly weighty offer considering her position as the Head of Gryffindor."

Fleur looked down at her lap and exhaled softly. "You will have to excuse me, I am not quite sure how to proceed in this matter especially on such little sleep. So much has occurred in the last ten hours that I am… stumbling to keep up. I am, of course, touched by McGonagall's offer and am deeply grateful. I am just… at a loss at how to proceed from here," Fleur lifted her hands, frustrated. "How do I prove to her parents that the love I feel for their daughter is pure, that I am not manipulating her, that… that it is okay for their only child to be gay." Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "They are her parents. I cannot begin to express how anxious I am, especially after how matters progressed this morning. And I am completely sealed to her. There is no going back for me now. It, us, our love. It has to survive this and I am not living on a time frame that allows for much patience." She trusted Hermione that she would not become the next Anuk, the next cautionary tale in the Delacour family tree.

"You are not alone in this endeavor. You have myself and Minerva and most importantly, you have Hermione's love for you. You cannot underestimate that. Now what you say to her parents is of importance and your actions even more so. Remember to remain truthful and to remain vigilant in the knowledge that your love, your relationship is right. The minute you doubt yourself, your love or her, the Grangers will realize it and it will feed their fear. And rightly so. They are entrusting their daughter to you. In the end, they love Hermione and we can only assume that they want to best for her and they will realize in time that she loves you and you only mean the best for her. They are her parents, they still see themselves as her protectors, a difficult task with such a precocious and beautiful daughter as Hermione."

A small smile crept upon Fleur's features. "I… thank you."

"Now I advise you to find some rest. You will have to leave early tomorrow if you are to make it to the funeral." Dumbledore moved to stand up.

"Professor, wait. I know it sounds odd, especially at a time like this, but…"

"I have found a substitute while you are away, but that is not what you are worried about." Dumbledore leaned forward.

"With Hermione and I both gone at the same time and suddenly… It is a concern that… I mean it is an open secret already. But perhaps this would be the final proof needed. Hermione does not favor being the center of attention and I am not the most… I attract attention to myself effortlessly. And if she is to return to Hogwarts after this debacle, I…" Fleur bit her lip, she almost felt tears coming to her eyes. Education was one of the most important things to Hermione and Fleur might have ruined it. It was never her intentions but intentions never weighed heavily against reality.

"Hermione will return to Hogwarts, you have my word on that, Fleur," Dumbledore spoke with a grave sincerity that Fleur could not help but to believe him despite her insecurities.

"Then I do not want to have her return to a student body that will surely… mistreat her for being my lover," Fleur continued. "What we will have to endure from her parents will surely be enough I imagine for our relationship for the time being." There will be other obstacles, yes. But in time.

"I fail to see how one could draw such conclusions from these events. Hermione left late Saturday night with her parents on a private family matter. And Parvati is most assuredly going to see you faint Monday morning on your way to class. Naturally the whole school will know by lunch time." There was a twinkle in his eye. "Besides after Quidditch practice this morning, Harry is resting for the next two days in the Hospital Wing."

"Merlin, is he…?" Fleur's breath caught, her concern for the boy, but her thoughts, her worries more on her lover.

"Most assuredly fine. He merely received a rather nasty knock from a Bludger. However, he will most likely also see you in the Hospital Wing, I imagine, and verify Parvati's story."

Fleur merely blinked at Dumbledore, who smiled, seemingly quite pleased with himself. She simply did not know what to say.

"You are not as alone here as you lead yourself to believe, Fleur," Dumbledore stood up. "I believe the best medicine for you right now is to sleep. And perhaps it is none of my business, however if I can interject here on one last point, I do not know what potion you are brewing." (But something in his eye seemed to indicate that he did.) "I do hope that you realize how it might affect what you are already taking and are dependent on and the dangers in that. I would perhaps strongly advise against it. Now if you will excuse me."

Fleur saw him to the door, assuring him that she would get some sleep and repeating the time and day of the meeting. A pit, already fully formed in her stomach, grew as the door closed and she returned to her potion.

His advice on her potion was wise, but on this matter, Fleur knew that she was right. If things were to progress naturally, if things were not to be rushed, this potion was now needed.

It was mid-afternoon by the time she allowed herself to go to bed. A week's supply of two completely different potions was lined up neatly on the kitchen table next to a small bag packed with Fleur's things for the upcoming trip. Fleur fell into a restless, dreamless sleep. All afternoon and into the night, she tossed and turned, reaching out, searching for Hermione on the cold side of the bed.

* * *

Hermione's hair was pulled back away from her face, with little effort placed into restraining her wild hair. Underneath a large black umbrella, she stood a ways off from her parents and the rest of her Muggle family. Her back, like the rest of the family, was turned to Fleur and her approach.

Feeling that it was best not to attend the church service, Fleur had apparated a safe distance away at the far edge of the cemetery. She had found her way to the Granger family plot guided more by her sense of Hermione than any real clear, logical sense of direction.

And so Fleur approached the group of huddled black figures from behind, not having the strength (or the audacity) to approach the family head on. No one turned around to notice the Frenchwoman, her footfalls silenced by the light rain. No one witnessed her insecurities, her straightening and needlessly rearranging her black dress—the same she had worn for Cedric's funeral.

With each step, the deep, somber voice the tall man in the black robe became clearer. Was he a priest? A preacher? A reverend? A vicar? Fleur did not know what the difference was or how to tell it, only that there was one.

Wordlessly, she slipped her hand into Hermione's with a warm, loving squeeze. Hermione jumped slightly at the sudden contact before looking up, teary eyed, and smiled. Relief flooding her features. She had hoped, but never imagined that Fleur would actually come.

"Of course I came," Fleur whispered so only the brunette could hear her, as if hearing or reading her lover's thoughts. "I love you."

"I love you too," Hermione whispered back.

Fleur locked her eyes on the casket, stealing glimpses at Hermione, beautiful despite her grief, as she tried to avoid the gaze of Hermione's parents. Fleur could not brave their expressions, their judgment, their parental concern. Not yet. After the coffin had been lowered, after everyone had said, cried, whispered their goodbyes, yes. But in that moment, all she could handle was Hermione's hand in hers as the man spoke about ashes and dust to the rhythm of the rain.


	31. On Muggles

The gravestone read Jean Ann Granger and below it two dates and a thoughtful inscription. Simple and tasteful.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The rain tinted everything with a vacant exhaustion. Fleur moved in as close as dared underneath Hermione's umbrella.

It was her first funeral since Cedric. Like before, Fleur allowed herself to be mesmerized by the man's voice, letting his words wash over her without truly hearing the meaning behind them. The meaning, if there truly was any, would only scare her. Like the last funeral, her body was consumed with exhaustion, with dread for the coming hours and days. Like the last funeral, Fleur worked hard not to imagine her own funeral. But this was also her first Muggle funeral. She was surrounded by strangers; the customs and the beliefs were largely unknown to her. So the dreary day was wrapped in a strange sense of curiosity, of unknowing, of not fitting in to this particular world.

Hermione gripped Fleur's hand tightly and showed no desire to let go, her fingers dangerously close to Fleur's potion burn. It throbbed from the proximity alone. The Frenchwoman tried to find subtle ways to shift her lover's fingers away. But as the coffin was lowered, Hermione's grip only tightened. Her nails dug into the blister and Fleur winced as the pain radiated up her wrist and down her fingers. But through it all she never once considered saying a word. The pain was at the edge of her skin, yes, but it was also elsewhere, in another world entirely. The closeness of their skin was starting to create a strange reaction in Fleur.

After the coffin was lowered, eyes lifted above the hole in the earth to view the world around them. Unmoved. Untouched. Unchanged by their personal tragedy. Their eyes lifted to the world around them and found it within their bodies to meet it, to file back into their cars, and to re-enter it the best they could. For some, it would be easier than others.

And as their eyes lifted, the familiar sensation crept across Fleur's skin of people staring, gaping. Lusting. The enchanted desire thinly masked their confusion, aghast that they were so entirely drawn to this strange woman at such an inappropriate time. She had appeared as if by magic under Hermione's umbrella, holding the brunette's hand, fingers interlocked so intimately? Only Hermione and her parents knew the answer of when, of how, and who.

Lucy rested her face on her husband's shoulder, averting her eyes from her daughter. Thomas clenched his fists before shoving them deep into his jacket pockets while accepting the silent condolences of those around him with lowered eyes, curt nods, and brisk handshakes that seemed to say more than the spoken words. And at his first chance, he turned his back to them and walked away.

Fleur averted her gaze to the ground. Her grip loosened on her lover's hand. She had no right to be here and they both knew it. But Hermione refused to let go.

"No. Not now." Hermione, through gritted teeth, protested under her breath. "I need this. I need you."

"Then I will not let go." Fleur's eyes remained focused on their fingertips, on how their skin touched. She could not brave her lover's father angry gaze or the white of his clenched fists. Not now. Not uninvited at his mother's funeral. But this, holding her lover's hand, she could do.

And so in silence, hand in hand, the couple joined the ebb of bodies slowly bobbing under umbrellas. The small mass filed back towards civilization, back towards their cars. Even when walking behind the rest of the crowd, the young couple was not free from the eyes, the looks, the lustful curiosity. Glances tossed over shoulders that would inevitably evolve into stares. The hickey, Fleur realized only too late, probably would not go unnoticed under any sort of scrutiny. Why hadn't she remembered to cast that glamour before arriving? Her free hand moved to try and nonchalantly cover her neck.

"Muggles are just as affected by your veela charms, I see," Hermione observed as Fleur tried to avoid the attention.

"Unfortunately there is not much discrimination I am afraid," Fleur sighed, wondering why she couldn't have owned a black scarf that would have been funeral appropriate. The hickey had begun to fade, yes; but in her state it was not fading quickly enough. Bruises were known to linger well past their welcome. "I truly apologize about this, about me. It is entirely inappropriate for the situation, or ever really. If I could, I would…" Fleur shook her head. This was not the first time, nor would it be the last that she wished she could simply turn off her charms altogether.

"It's part and parcel of loving a veela," Hermione smiled softly. "I have the most attractive date to the funeral."

"I was unaware that funerals were an event that called for dates. Is it a muggle tradition?" Fleur tried to uphold the light quality to the conversation, frail though it was, thinking that this was perhaps what Hermione needed.

"Quite. They're like weddings, except you only bring dates you don't mind seeing you cry. A special kind of date." Hermione paused, looking Fleur straight in the eyes. "It really means a lot to me that you came."

Fleur resisted the urge to wrap her arms around Hermione's familiar waist, to kiss the brunette on the forehead, the cheek, the lips (and never stop). Her eyes strayed to their interlocked fingers and gave a (hopefully reassuring) squeeze.

"There is nowhere else that I could be than here with you now."

Hermione caught the tone, the expression on the blonde's face. Hesitation and doubt lingered in the air just above Fleur's voice. "But…?"

But by then they had reached the cars and the crowd began breaking off, splitting off into smaller groups, pairs, and individuals all disappearing into their cars. Fleur's eye had once again caught the look on Thomas' face—she knew where Hermione had inherited that distinctive scowl, that look of pure hatred and disgust.

And Fleur panicked. Fingers still intertwined with Hermione's, Fleur swiftly changed course and led her girlfriend away and out of hearing range next to a nearby tree but conscious to stay within sight range. They needed to trust her. They needed to see her. Needed to see that she had nothing to hide.

"But… The but is I cannot go further. Or rather I should not for the time being. I need to find a place for the night, give your family some space before tomorrow," Fleur shook her head, gesturing vaguely behind her as if to demonstrate this need. "It is not right," She clarified. "Your father, your parents they do not want me here right now. And I understand that. I should respect their wishes until everything is sorted, until they realize that I am not some horrible monster. It is only proper."

And this is where Hermione looked like she nearly wanted to slap Fleur. "Stop it. No. Just… just don't. I won't. I can't. You are my girlfriend. And I need you to be here with me now. And don't you even dare consider even for a moment staying anywhere else tonight. We both know your limits in that regard." Her voice cracking, tears forming in her eyes.

"I knew you would say that," the blonde nearly whispered, using a finger to gently catch her lover's tears, a small smile creeping up on her features despite herself.

"Then why did you…?" Hermione started and then stopped with an exasperated exhale. Instead of finishing her question, Hermione settled on wiping her own tears away, roughly, her index finger tracing an outline of the underside of her eye. "You're impossible. I love you, but you're bloody impossible."

"I suppose I wanted to hear it, to hear you say it," Fleur enfolded Hermione up in her arms and kissed her on the forehead. Despite perhaps her better judgment, she gave in to her lover. She would stay. Her eyes wandered back to Hermione's family. "They are your family and they are important to you as they should be. I do not wish to jeopardize your relationship with them so you need to teach me the limits, the rules of engagement so to speak. How certain muggle customs operate, how your family operates. And how I can fit within it tonight and then tomorrow. How far, how much you desire them to know about us, about me."

Hermione slowly nodded, having satisfied herself in abolishing all signs of tears. "Let's get out of the rain first. We can talk in the car."

Readjusting the satchel on her shoulder, Fleur followed her lover's lead, quietly thankful to be walking on pavement again-she knew she should have worn a more sensible pair of heels. Hermione led her past the crowd, past her parents as they slipped into a large, navy blue vehicle pretending, for the moment, not to notice them. They stopped in front of a small light blue vehicle. It had clearly seen better days, but even in its glory days the vaguely square-ish car had probably never been anything special to look at. It was probably as it appeared: a good, sensible car.

Brandishing a small keychain from her pocket, Hermione opened the passenger side door with a slight theatrical flourish and gestured to Fleur. "Your carriage awaits."

"What a perfect gentleman," Fleur smiled and fought back the urge to kiss Hermione even chastely on the cheek before slipping into the car.

Fleur watched her girlfriend walk around to the driver's seat before settling into her curiosity. The truth was Fleur had never been in a car before. She had seen cars many times, of course, parked along the side of a road or driving past. But being raised in a Wizarding family she had always traveled through magical means. And the fact that it was Hermione's car—or at least the one she was driving—made it all the more interesting to the veela.

Fleur examined the interior with a childlike curiosity, too shy to touch anything but her eyes raking over everything. The vehicle was smaller on the inside than she had imagined, less legroom than she expected, and it had a strange, nondescript scent to it. A mechanical smell mixed with humanity perhaps. Fleur fought the urge to run her fingers over the meters, to reach out and press the buttons.

Buttons were not something she had much experience with. Her mind was unable to guess what each one could do despite the little pictures that she assumed somehow illustrated their function. However she did know that they were not to be pressed 'all willy-nilly.' She had learned that when her father had taken her on a muggle elevator once. The small blonde had gotten a little too excited about pressing the glowing buttons and had subsequently caused the big men with helmets arrive. It was humiliating to say the least for the small child.

"My parents drove up with my aunt Ruth and her husband Jasper," Hermione explained. "There wasn't much room in the car and we had a rather big row the night before so I just took my own car. The spare car really. I'm never home to actually drive this."

"What happened?" The dread of Hermione's parents was crouched at the forefront of her stomach.

Hermione squished her face together, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Instead she pulled some sort of strap around her body. In her rush to replicate the action, Fleur missed exactly what Hermione had done with the strap once it had been brought across her body. As a result, it snapped back to its original position startling the French woman. Hermione leaned over, smiling from the corners of her mouth, and drew the seatbelt back over Fleur's body, her fingers tracing the path against Fleur's skin, before buckling it.

"You've never been in a car before, have you?"

Fleur blushed. "No, never." And then, as if an excuse, "I grew up on the floo network and side-along apparating, an occasional train and elevator when visiting my father's work."

"An elevator isn't really so much a form as transportation as a time-saving device within a building."

Fleur shrugged, crossing her arms. "They are wretched, whatever they may be. Too many buttons for such a small space."

Not really sure how to respond, Hermione just smiled and shook her head. "Cars aren't that hard if you're the passenger. Just wear your seatbelt," Hermione casually traced down Fleur's seatbelt with her index finger, "don't distract the driver from the road and enjoy the ride," Hermione grinned and kissed Fleur softly on the forehead, which did not help Fleur feel any less silly. "And sometimes adjust the radio, but that might be a bit too advanced to start with."

Fleur arched her eyebrow, not sure how much Hermione was teasing her or not with the last comment.

"How much  _do_  you know about Muggles?" Hermione inserted a key—was it the same that opened the doors?—behind the steering wheel. The car started with a mechanical noise, a growling, purring of some sorts after a moment of sputtering. The noise somehow different from the one Fleur had been expecting.

Fleur opened her mouth to respond—she had grown up in a muggle town after all (in a Wizarding household). She had taken Muggle Studies (before dropping it at her soonest convenience). Burbage had lent her books (that she had only had time to skim at best). Fleur opened her mouth but soon closed it, examining her hands as if looking for the answer and came up empty. "I believed that we had more time." She finally said, defeated.

Three years to learn and she didn't. Since their first kiss to prepare and she didn't. Like so many things she had looked the other way. Just like her heritage, her condition and the ritual, Fleur had avoided the actualities of Hermione's family. Selfish and cowardly, she believed she had more time, all the time in the world. The folly of youth. (That we might never outgrow.)

"Most of my family does not know about my being a witch. They believe that I go to a private school in Scotland, which is mostly true," Hermione explained as she adjusted position of the stick—a gear shift, Fleur would later learn. It was a fluid, practiced movement. Fleur idly wondered how many positions the stick could be placed in—this was at least the second time she saw Hermione reposition it. And why. Why did it have to be moved so often and in those exact positions? It seemed some sort of strange driving ritual, the magic of Muggles.

"It must be hard," Fleur stated, feeling that her words came up a bit flat to the reality of the situation. It was a difficult existence, especially if Hermione chose to remain in the magical world after Hogwarts. Would she tell them then or would her life be filled with lies every time she met her own family, her own flesh and blood?

Hermione barely shrugged, not seeming bothered at all. "We are not that close, my family, not like yours. My parents and I used to be closer, but that doesn't matter now." A pause, an unreadable (pained) expression. "Anyway, we decided at the beginning it was best that the rest of the family didn't know about my abilities. Too many questions and the holidays are awkward enough as it is. We don't even see them most of the time besides."

"But does it not…?"

Fleur remembered how over Christmas Hermione's parents had gone to a dental conference, had not seemed that bothered that their daughter did not join them. Fully comprehending the situation for the first time, it suddenly struck the French woman as sad. Her family was an essential part of her life. More than ever in that moment she wanted to be Hermione's family, to fill that void. She wanted to reach across the space between their bodies and touch her lover. But she did not know the rules, the etiquette of cars.

"Really, it's fine, Fleur. It doesn't matter that they don't know I'm a witch. It's probably easier for everyone involved. Some families just aren't that close. And besides I always liked to think that we make our own families," Hermione smiled, tossing a glance to Fleur.

"Then I will try to mute my veela charms as much as possible this afternoon," Fleur spoke after a moment. "It sometimes… affects Muggles more as they have no intellectual concept as to what is happening to them. They, more so than wizards, are more prone to mistake it for something genuine."

"Can you really control it that well?"

"To some degree, however it requires a lot of energy. It will, of course, be easier after… I often find it easier just to simply avoid crowds." Fleur admitted. "For today, though, even if I were able to turn my charms off, I am not sure how much it would aid the situation to be quite frank. I am still…"

"Unbelievably attractive," Hermione filled in the blank. "Not the most humble, but true."

"I was going to say completely inept with Muggles, but thank you. Perhaps I shall be saved by my charm and good looks alone." Fleur smiled slightly below her blush. "I need to know the ground rules with your family. Anything magic-related is off the conversation topics list. I am also assuming that my being your… what I mean to say is that perhaps I should be introduced as a close friend. At least until after your parents." Her parents, what, approved? "Whatever you think is best."

The vehicle actually seemed to slow down as Hermione looked over at the Frenchwoman. "Fleur…"

"Keep your eyes on the road," Fleur tried to smile. "Today is your grandmother's funeral. We have the rest of our lives to tell your family about us. Maybe this just is not the time." (And if her family didn't know about her being a witch, was it really a big deal if they also didn't know whom she was dating?)

"It just doesn't seem fair to you."

"I am not a fan of rushing, Hermione, you know that and I promised to take it slow. Besides I know that you love me. I trust you completely. However what concerns me right now is your family, your parents specifically. Even if you claim not to be close, they still matter to you. And the last thing I wish to do is to cause any further damage to that than I perhaps already have. So let us begin with earning your parents acceptance before we look to the rest of your family."

"But I don't just want their acceptance, I want, I don't know, their understanding. Their blessing, is it lame to say that?" If a shout could be a whisper, that was Hermione's voice as she spoke. "It's just so frustrating. Why can't they just…"

"They will." A pause, a doubtful look from the corner of Hermione's eye. "In time, perhaps, yes. They discovered us in a rather shocking manner, first they have to recover from that and then deal with the actuality."

For a while, Hermione was silent. She pushed a button, twisted a knob towards the red line. The car slowly became warmer in response. The fog that had began to take over the windshield slowly started to ebb away.

"We got into quite a row last night. They think that you have seduced me and are manipulating me."

"Well, I did seduce you," Fleur grinned playfully to cover the worry lines across her face. "However, I think they would be surprised to know that it is me, not you, that could not live without you."

"Don't say that. Don't you dare underestimate how much I need you," Hermione dared a quick glance away from the road, but there were volumes to be read in the frustration and hurt etched on the girl's face. "Especially not after—… No. I don't know how I would have been able to handle that funeral without you there. And I mean it."

"Hermione," Fleur started but did not know where to continue. Unaware of lover's etiquette in moving vehicles, Fleur finally decided braved the no-man's land between their bodies to place her hand on Hermione's thigh reassuring. She wanted to say that she wished to always be there, but somehow the words caught in her throat.

"Good. I'm glad that's sorted." But Hermione did not sound that glad at all.

Hermione's small blue car hummed behind the long trail of cars. Fleur assumed that they were going to the wake, but she did not know where it was to be held. And even this she began to question as Hermione turned off on a road separate from the rest.

"Hermione, where are we going?"

"To the wake at my house," Hermione answered plainly.

"Hermione all the other cars went straight through that intersection. We took a right."

"We are taking the scenic route."

Fleur arched her eyebrow. "The scenic route?"

"I am not really in the mood to deal with my family quite yet and I want to show you around." A pause. "I'm not sure when we will have another opportunity."

"I hope I am not overly optimistic to think that we will have time," Fleur interjected.

"I just want to do it now, if that's fine with you."

"It is more than fine," Fleur reassured her lover. "I would love to see where you grew up."

Hermione's grandmother had been buried in the Henley Road Municipal Cemetery in Reading, which was only a short drive away from Henley-on-Thames, Hermione's hometown. They had already entered the town when Hermione deviated away from her family.

As they drove, Hermione turned into a tour guide, happy to point out places of historical or personal importance, happy to share the other part of her life with her lover, happy to have the distraction. She had turned towards the River Thames, which lay to the south of the town. Almost immediately they reached a stoned, arch bridge. Hermione followed the riverbank briefly before turning back into town. Hermione was in no obvious rush to return to her family.

Hermione explained how her parents had moved here shortly after she was born in part because of the commute. A careful detailing of the intricacies of the road systems and train schedules followed. Fleur tried to ask questions, but in the end she only felt more confused and settled on the fact that Muggle commuting was perhaps something one had to experience in order to understand.

Turning away from the river, Hermione pointed out a spot on the right that once, while running home, she had tripped and hurt her knee fairly badly. A nice woman with perfume had helped clean her up and bought her a mint humbug for "being so brave." There had been no scar after the incident, only the happy memory of candy and a stranger's kindness.

And there on Ravencroft Road was Hermione's first library. She still had her membership somewhere in her room, dusted off each summer and put to good use before visiting the Weasleys at the Burrow. Fleur assumed that the brunette had mostly exhausted their collection at this point.

From the car window, Fleur was introduced to Hermione's favorite places to read, where her hair was cut, her favorite restaurants (along with the ones she avoided). People walked along the streets, some Hermione knew and pointed out to Fleur. But Hermione never stopped to greet or in any other way acknowledge the person beyond that. There was a distance to Hermione's hometown that seemed stitched in everything she did there, as if this place was already so far back in her past that she could only remember and not actually touch it.

The brunette pulled up to a building surrounded by a playground, similar to ones Fleur had played in and around Honfleur in her youth, and cut the engine.

"Welcome to my primary school," Hermione explained as Fleur looked at her with some confusion. "If school wasn't in session, I'd show you around."

From the safety of her lover's car, Fleur explored the school grounds with her eyes. The blonde woman watched the small children, all in matching green and yellow, dart around, obviously at recess. She tried to picture Hermione much smaller and dressed similarly when it occurred to her that she had never seen a photo of Hermione as a small child.

Hermione grinned self-consciously as she observed Fleur's rapt curiosity and attention. "Our uniforms were meant to match the pleasant environment of the school, or so the handbook claims."

"They are quite adorable," Fleur smiled warmly at her lover, her eyes drawn to the children running around, laughing and screaming. In the back of her mind, Fleur mind wondered if she herself wanted to have children and realized that she did. A part of her had always assumed that one day she would be a mother. But did Hermione want to have children? She was an only child who was not that close to her parents. Did such things factor into the decision of parenthood?

"I think my parents chose this school because of the free fruit they give to the younger students and because sweets aren't allowed on campus. Parents always go for things like that." Hermione continued unaware of her lover's thoughts.

"Right, your parents are tooth doctors. Dentists," Fleur nodded, still partly distracted by the thought of children. What kind of parents would they make? As they spoke, the teachers herded the children back into their classrooms, recess over.

"We should probably head back soon," Hermione sighed, but made no move to start the car back up again.

Instead, she twisted her body to the side and tentatively kissed Fleur on the lips. One kiss followed by another and another, each one more clearly expressing the hunger, the desperation.

But kissing in a car, Fleur quickly realized, was not the most comfortable activity. There were seat belts that had to be unbuckled when proximity became a growing necessity, seats that ended and prevented them from becoming closer even then, and then that infernal gearshift in the no-man's land in between had to be contended with.

And then there was the Nun's Potion—her hunger was still there underneath her skin, she could feel it almost as a physical object contained within her, struggling to break free, pacing back and forth. But distantly, all as if a whisper. She remembered how she reacted, how she wanted to react, but in the moment it escaped her. It was a strange sensation, as if having two bodies in one skin and one body, the real one, was shrinking.

"We really should get back," Fleur exhaled, resting her forehead up against Hermione's. "I want your parents to trust me. Somehow I doubt that disappearing to snog at your old primary school right after the funeral will truly aid me in that endeavor."

"Snog?" Hermione pulled just enough away to look at Fleur clearly.

"Am I not allowed to use English slang?"

"One we were not snogging," Hermione protested. "And no, you're not. Not snog. It sounds weird coming from you."

"All these hidden rules with you."

For a few moments they just sat there, staring at the school holding hands, fingers intertwining and weaving in and out of each other. After a while, Hermione's finger began to tentatively orbit the outline of Fleur's burn.

"I am not looking forward to it any more than you are," Fleur pressed, "but we really should be on our way."

"What happened to your hand?" Hermione's finger became to close and Fleur instinctively pulled away from the pain of her lover's touch.

"I burned it yesterday on accident," Fleur stated simply, tracing the wound now with her own finger, nursing the pain. Even the pain felt distant to her, as if too was slipping out of her grasp.

"How?" Hermione pressed, never one to accept Fleur's vague first answers.

"Potions is unfortunately not one of my finer skills," Fleur shrugged. "I rather not discuss it, actually. It was silly really."

"What potion were you making?"

"It is embarrassing really. Let's not talk about it?" She had not intended to keep the Nun's Potion from Hermione, but now did not seem the time. The potion was only temporary. Only for while she was visiting. And maybe a short time after depending. There was no need to share just yet. It might unintentionally pressure Hermione, the exact opposite of Fleur's intentions. "Tell me about the fight with your parents last night," Fleur once again braved the distance past the stick, the no-man's land and rested her hand on Hermione's thigh, as she looked for a distraction.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head, about to say something and then held her tongue. A moment later, her features became both frustrated and sad.

"I just don't know when it happened, when they stopped being Mum and Dad and started being Mother and Father. I just don't. Like you and your parents, you have this wonderful bond, this love. And my family? We just don't. I'm a witch, they're Muggles. And now… I honestly just don't know how we'll survive this. We barely know each other as it is anymore. My father's coming out of nowhere making all these judgments about my life, about you, making all these rules. They don't even know you. They don't even want to. And that's simply not an option for me."

"He loves you, Hermione. He is just trying to protect you." Fleur spoke, but she felt herself quiver. Did she mean what she said, that they did not want to know her? Fleur felt like she needed to throw up.

"And now you're defending him?" Hermione stared into the road, exasperated, gripping the wheel tightly.

"No, I am not defending him, Hermione. You know that. But I understand where he is coming from." She heard herself speak, but she was still caught on her lover's words.

"Oh, you do, do you?" The tone in Hermione's voice put Fleur on edge.

"Hermione, please. Can we please not fight about this? He is your father, he just wants to protect you." Fleur tried to stay calm, keep her voice quiet and even. It would not do to argue at a time like this, they needed a united front.

"Protect me? Why does everyone want to protect me? Even you do it. Why? Am I such a weak, little girl in everyone's eyes?"

"Because, Merlin, Hermione, that's what people do when they love someone." Fleur burst and then closed her eyes and bit her lip. Softening her tone before Hermione could interject. "Neither of us wishes to see you hurt."

"Strangely enough you're both trying to protect me from you. Why is that? What do you two know that I don't? Are you someone I should be protected from?"

"No, Hermione. You know I am not." Fleur wondered how the conversation had gotten to this point.

"I am not some fragile thing that needs to be protected!" Hermione hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand causing a loud, abrupt noise to come from the car. Fleur jumped in surprise, her heart skipped a beat.

"Merlin! And neither am I, but you try to protect me just as much as I you." Fleur spoke, slowly recovering from the shock, trying to keep her breathing regular.

"Your condition…" Hermione muttered weakly after a moment.

"The human condition, you mean." Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice sounding exhausted even to her own ears, before turning to face her lover. "I am not as fragile as you find me either, Hermione. And it, my condition, is only temporary. However I think you will find that even after the ritual you will be just as drawn to protect me as you are currently." Fleur paused to tuck a stray hair behind Hermione's ear. "This need to protect you because I love you, you cannot fault me for that. And nor can you fault your father for it either. It is just the nature of the beast."

"I just want them to see how happy we are."

"They will," Fleur squeezed Hermione's leg. "I promise you. It just might not happen overnight."

Silently Hermione withdrew her hand and twisted the key in the ignition. She backed out of the spot and started to drive back down roads that were beginning to become familiar.

As the car turned right down a more residential street, Fleur recognized the street name as the one Hermione lived on. Immediately she was filled with a renewed desire to soak everything in, more so than in the rest of the town. The houses, the window boxes, the front gardens. Perhaps hidden in how the child's tricycle was left abandoned on the sidewalk gave some yet unknown insight into Hermione.

Cars overflowed from Hermione's modest driveway onto the street. The wake, it appeared, was a somber but well attended affair. Hermione had to park on the street, muttering about how she'd have to move the car later as she yanked the key out from behind the steering wheel.

The two slowly approached Hermione's front door hand in hand. Fleur knew that her palms were sweaty. She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to calm the dread rising up within her. Despite her nervousness, Fleur could not help but be struck by how absolutely normal Hermione's house was. In no apparent way was it differentiated in any obvious way from its neighbors.

Their hands separated as Hermione reached for the doorknob. One last look for reassurance, a quick kiss on the lips for good luck. And then Hermione turned the doorknob. It swung open like any other door and Hermione was home.

Perhaps it was the fight with her parents the night before and the strain of the upcoming meeting which neither had felt moved to discuss but Hermione did not seem any more at ease upon crossing the threshold. If anything she seemed tenser. She was in a familiar environment, yes, and there was some sort of comfort in the surroundings, but it was a strained and distant comfort. She seemed as separate from the house as she did the rest of town.

The rooms were filled with people still locked within their somber dress and somber expressions, food and drink often in hand, either avoided or eaten with a strange fervor or with vacant expressions. Most looked with a mix of subtly and overt (rude) curiosity (lust) when the door shut behind the young couple. And Fleur wondered if this was how Philippe felt every Christmas. And if so, why did he keep going?

The tension, the curiosity followed them room to room. The strained relationship between parents and daughter was there for anyone who wanted to notice it and the family intrigue was only deepened by the sudden arrival of a strange French woman. The two were not coincidences and everyone was drawing their own conclusions.

Fleur ignored their stares the best she could, her eyes curiously raking over every object, every piece of furniture in the home. (Partly for distraction.) She cross-referenced all she saw to everything she knew about Muggles, about Hermione, about the Grangers. She held back the urge to go up and examine each one of the family photographs, to poke them in their motionless, lifeless state. How did Muggles get their pictures to stand so still? And why did they not tire of these motionless replications?

Almost entirely through awkward greetings, Fleur was introduced to most of Hermione's family, or at least her father's side. The names, for the most part, refused to stick in Fleur's mind for long. She could barely concentrate for the anxiety lodged between her throat and chest. The Frenchwoman gained a renewed sense of empathy for Hermione at her family Christmas party. (But surely it was not this uncomfortable for her?)

And whenever she could, Fleur gravitated away from the crowds and closer to the family photos. Hermione would return from speaking with Aunt Emily, Uncle Gus, or Cousin Whoever to find Fleur inspecting a photo of the brunette as a toddler, half-naked on a stony beach, a yellow plastic toy in hand, inquisitive eyes and a wide, childish smile. Returning with drinks, Hermione discovered Fleur examining a photograph of Hermione and her family on a snowy mountain bundled up in with their feet strapped, for whatever reason, to two absurd stick-like objects. Seeing Fleur's perplexed discussion, Hermione tried to explain skiing to Fleur. And Fleur tried her best not to laugh. To limited success.

"It seems utterly ridiculous. And potentially quite dangerous," Fleur finally gave up. This was just one of those Muggle things that she would have to work better at accepting. She just had to trust that wizard and veela cultures likewise had customs that appeared strange to outsiders.

At one point, towards the later part of the afternoon, the brunette came up to Fleur looking intently at photo of Hermione looking similar to how Fleur first knew her. In the picture, Hermione looked awkward and seeming like she was trying not to look upset.

"I think your picture-self is annoyed with me," Fleur observed quietly.

"No," Hermione seemed to hold in a laugh. "At my Father for taking my picture. I had just come home from Hogwarts that year. It was right after everything with Cedric and… I have no idea why they have this picture up honestly."

It was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I do not think I will ever fully understand why your pictures refuse to move," Fleur shook her head, turning her attention away from the photograph and back towards her girlfriend, hoping to change the subject.

"It is a different sort of mindset. A frozen moment." Hermione shrugged. "There is a certain truth that can be found in the lack of inertia."

"Paralyzed more like it," Fleur screwed up her face, partly in jest.

Hermione shook her head, clearly amused. "Care for a tour of the house?"

Fleur's eyes darted to Hermione's parents, who had been keeping a rather close eye on the couple. They appeared to be distracted with helping Hermione's great aunt—Vera, was it?—with her wheelchair, which was caught on some piece of furniture. But Hermione's question was more rhetorical. Without waiting for a response, Hermione grasped Fleur by the hand and led her up the stairs past an array of nameless, un-introduced rooms. Nearly at the end of the hall, Hermione opened a door and quickly ushered Fleur in before shutting the door behind them.

"The abbreviated tour, actually. This is my room," Hermione corrected herself behind her sneaky smile.

Fleur barely had time to look around the room before she felt Hermione's hands on her hips, lips hungrily pressing up against her own, coaxing her mouth open. The younger woman's hands desperately moved across Fleur's body. Lost in the sensation, the warmth, the pleasure of her lover, Fleur moved into the embrace passionately. Or as passionately as she could. Her responses no longer felt natural. The Nun's Potion. She hated how it made her so distant. (Maybe she should dilute the potion slightly.) Slowly, reluctantly she pulled herself away from her lover.

"Your parents are downstairs," Fleur breathed.

"Which is why we are upstairs," Hermione pointed out, her finger tracing up and down Fleur's stomach. And then she moved up to recapture what was hers, Fleur once again moved away unsure of how to deal with the effects of the potion.

"No. Not now, not at your grandmother's wake. Not with the way matters are with your parents."

"So we're going to put our lives on hold until my parents give us the stamp of approval? Fleur, they might not do that and I am not going to wait to kiss you until they say I can. Let's face it, that might never happen." The irritation, the frustration began rising again in Hermione's voice.

Fleur stepped aside and opened the door fully into the hallway. "I am not saying that, but in their house the night before a very important meeting about our relationship? Yes, I am going to do my best to respect them. If I have to curb my desires for a few nights so that I can spend the rest of my life with you and have their blessing then yes, that is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

Hermione sat on her bed, arms crossed and not looking the least bit pleased. "Fine."

Not sure what to say, Fleur filled the silence by examining her lover's room. Fleur had never been in a space that was Hermione's before, not really. As Hermione's professor, she obviously had never visited the girl in Gryffindor. Hermione's bedroom was emptier than Fleur imagined, though it made perfect sense. The girl had not been truly living there for six years. The walls were mostly bare, though photos of her friends—mostly muggle—adorned the walls. The bookshelves were filled, if not overflowing with books, from old texts from previous years and other books Hermione probably described as 'a bit of light reading' to Muggle novels. Fleur ran her finger over each and every spine imagining Hermione as she read them, the thoughts that they sparked and how her face looked when deep in thought. The quiet look of satisfaction on closing a finished book.

Fleur's interest moved from the walls and bookshelves to the surfaces of her desk. A few beauty products scattered here and there, but mostly vacant. Fleur picked it up and examined a nearby photo that lay above the thin layer of dust that had settled on most everything else. Creased slightly in the corner with a finger print smudge near the top, the photo had obviously been looked at and handled a number of times.

She barely remembered the photo being taken. It had been in the beginning of the school year, before she had learned how to avoid the crowded hallways. Walking home from class she had been blinded by a flash of light. Her photographed self was trying to block her face with her hand, every once in a while looking past her hand to see if the photographer was gone.

"Hermione," she turned to her lover, picture in hand. "How did you get this?"

"Colin Creevey gave me a copy," Hermione looked down, trying to hide the blush on her features. "Well, actually I asked for one if you want to be specific."

"You asked?" Fleur arched an eyebrow up, trying to picture the situation.

"Every else was asking for a copy and I figured that since I actually was your girlfriend… I mean it's not the best shot of you. I have been meaning to get a better one." Hermione ducked her head, taking the photo from Fleur's hand.

"He has more?" Fleur, however touched that Hermione had sought after a photograph of her, was not sure how she felt about Colin Creevy, paparazzi.

"No. At least not that I'm aware of." Hermione smiled shyly. "I meant more like one that I would take. Or maybe one of us together."

"I would like that," Fleur smiled softly, wondering if the first picture of them as couple would move or not.

For a moment they just looked at each other, very much in love, before it became too much and Fleur returned to her inspection of the room. From behind her, Fleur could hear Hermione rustling through a drawer but the blonde's attention was locked on yet another photograph, a magical one of Hermione and Ginny at the Burrow laughing as if caught in the middle of an inside joke. Fleur smiled to herself, tracing the air above Hermione's face.

Suddenly Fleur was blinded by a bright light. For a minute she was disoriented as her eyes readjusted to the light, too stunned to realize what happened.

"Sorry. I didn't think this would actually work anymore." However Hermione did not look that apologetic in the least as she held a small device in her hand, similar in some respects to a wizard camera. In the other hand she held a small paper square. "Or flash so brightly."

"That could have been remedied with a forewarning," Fleur spoke as she tried to rub the light out of her eye as she crossing the distance to the Gryffindor to inspect the small paper square. "What did you just do?"

"I prefer candid photographs. Your smile is more beautiful when you don't think anyone is looking," Hermione placed the camera back down on her desk so as to wrap an arm around Fleur and showed her the small, developing photograph in her hand.

Fleur bent over slightly. Within the white-framed edges, a small square seemed to be slowly changing in front of her, the image becoming slowly clearer and the colors seemed to evolve out from the grey. "What is this?"

"It's called a Polaroid, it's a type of picture. The film somewhat instantly develops in the air," Hermione explained, seemingly amused by Fleur's naivety when it came to Muggles.

"Some kind of magic?" Fleur furrowed her eyes examining it. It certainly looked like magic to her.

"Not really," Hermione smiled in that way that made Fleur feel silly. "It's a chemical process. Look at how cute your expression is."

"I look confused and utterly ridiculous," Fleur scoffed at the developing photograph.

"Like I said, cute," Hermione leaned in and kissed her girlfriend softly on the cheek.

Before Fleur could protest, there was a cough on the doorframe. "Hermione, we still have guests downstairs. I would appreciate it if you would help instead of … whatever you are doing here."

The sound of Thomas' voice instantly tensed Fleur's muscles and she instinctually took a step away from her girlfriend as if she was doing something wrong. But she wasn't. Standing next to your lover, or really anyone for that matter, was not a crime. But his eyes, that look? In that moment it was.

"I apologize for the intrusion today, at the funeral and at your home," Fleur spoke, not quite able to look him in the face. "I understand that this cannot be pleasant for you. However I believe that this is something that we can work out."

"If she truly understood so well then perhaps she should have stayed away until tomorrow." Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. Fleur found herself making eye contact with his mustache. He wouldn't even address her.

"I asked her to come," Hermione took a step in front of Fleur.

"This is a family affair," Thomas nearly growled.

"She is family," Hermione glared.

Thomas looked away down the hall. "The wake is almost over. Shouldn't your friend be leaving now?"

"Why? She's staying here tonight." And Hermione, like father, like daughter, crossed her arms nearly mirroring her father's stance. Fleur wondered if Hermione did this purposefully.

"No. Not a possibility. I won't have her here in my house," Thomas fought to keep his voice even, inaudible to those downstairs. The strain was becoming evident.

"She has nowhere else to go," Hermione held her ground, steely eyed.

"That is not my concern."

Fleur's eyes could not stray from Thomas' mustache. His eyes, his clenched white fists were too much for her, let alone his words.

"Look, I do not wish to cause any further… difficulties than I already have," Fleur stepped forward. "Please. I will go."

"No, Fleur. Your condition." And then Hermione turned to her father. "She's sick, Dad. You can't do this to her."

"Ah yes, her convenient magical condition that makes it a necessity to be around you at all times," Thomas glared, his look signifying that he was on to Fleur, that he didn't for moment believe that she was truly ill. "I don't care. Take a pill, a potion, or whatever, and come back in the morning. She is not spending a night under my roof."

Fleur found the strength to meet his eyes, plainly and openly, almost challenging him to find a lie across her face. She had no words to say in response. How did he not see the weakness creeping up on the corners of her, faster in that moment than ever before? Did he really think her such a horrible person as to invent such a condition?

"Dad!" Hermione stomped her foot. "You can't do that."

"Well she's not sleeping in your room and I'm sure as hell not letting her stay in the guest room across the hall where she can sneak into your room in the middle of the night." He spoke with the finality of a parent who was not used to being spoken back to and was now becoming flustered because now he was being challenged.

"Hermione, really. I can find some place else to go." Fleur pleaded. She didn't want to make a scene or cause an issue. It would only make tomorrow harder.

"No, both of you stop. This is ridiculous." Hermione stomped her foot, her eyes boring into her father. "Fleur is spending the night here. If she sleeps elsewhere, then I am sleeping elsewhere with her. And that is final."

"Hermione, no. Really," Fleur closed her eyes, silently pleading. In the back of her mind, she remembered Lucy in her entryway likewise playing the failed peacekeeper.

"You know what, fine," Thomas threw up his arms. "I have no idea what has gotten into you, but fine. Fine, fine, whatever. She can sleep on the sofa downstairs."

"Dad!"

"That's final. The sofa. If you question me further it will be the floor."

Fleur held up her hand, stepping fully in front of Hermione. "Thank you, Monsieur Granger. I truly appreciate your hospitality on this matter. However, I do not wish to encroach upon your home. If there is a nearby inn or—"

"Fleur!" Hermione's eyes begged, demanded that Fleur stop what she was doing.

Fleur turned around, torn between the two strong-willed Grangers. Sighing she took a step back towards Hermione and cupped her face. "If you wish, I will sleep on the couch tonight. But I will make myself scarce until then. I have encroached upon your family enough as it is."

"Where will you go and in the rain? You hate the rain… And you can't drive." Hermione frowned, pleading softly. "And your condition."

"Then I will not go far, hm? I will be fine." She leaned in and kissed Hermione on the forehead. "Do you still have the parchment?" Hermione nodded. "Write me when it is fine for me to return. After dinner."

And then without leaving room for further words, protests and arguments, she left. Fleur walked past Thomas, down the stairs, past the curious eyes, picking up her small bag that she had left by the entrance and out the door without looking behind her. Only fueling the family gossip further.

Despite her exhaustion, she wandered around for quite some time until finding a Laundrette. (It took her a little while longer to realize what a Laundrette was.) There amongst the heat of the dryers and the whirling colors in the washers Fleur began to read one of the books Burbage had lent her. She knew she should be working on lesson plans, but she could not focus on that. There was a more pressing issue at hand. She read mostly undisturbed except by her own anxious thoughts until she could no longer ignore her hunger.

Her father had taught her to always keep Muggle money on hand when traveling. Like usual, she had underestimated how much was enough. Walking into a nearby shop, she spent some considerable time walking up and down the aisles examining the items, trying to discern from the brightly colored packages with strange names what would be good and what she could afford. Finally she settled on a prepackaged ham and pickle sandwich, an apple, and a small bottle of water. Purchases in hand, she returned to the Laundrette where she ate with a nervous lackluster. Taking advantage of a moment when the Laundrette was empty, she took another dose of her potion. And then, after several moments of hesitation, a half dose of the Nun's Potion as well. When she returned to Hogwarts, she would research how to dilute its potency.

It was dark by the time she felt the familiar warmth in her pocket from the parchment. Twenty minutes later Hermione arrived at the Laundrette to pick Fleur up. She did not feel much like talking on their short drive home and Fleur knew better than to press her. Hermione gripped Fleur's hand as if for dear life.

* * *

The tension of the Granger home was, if anything, worse than when Fleur had left. It seemed to fill up every room in the house to the point of suffocation. Lucy was in the kitchen washing dishes and did not look up from the sink when Fleur and Hermione walked in the door. Hermione led her into the living room and sat down on the couch. It had already been made up. In other situations, the strange cartoon characters that danced across the sheet and the mismatched quilts would have amused Fleur. Now she only smiled distantly as she pictured a small Hermione curled up in the sheets, perhaps at one point under the same quilts.

The two sat uncomfortably apart on the couch—like they had in the beginning when Hermione stopped scowling but was still unsure with what to do about Fleur's obvious affections. They did not say much. Both Thomas and Lucy kept finding reasons to dart in the living room, to walk through, never lingering but their eyes locked on them just the same.

"It's so hard. I don't even know what to say to them." Hermione sighed, after hearing both her parents walk upstairs. She held her face in her hand and looked incredibly small. "And whatever I do say, they just…" Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip. "It's like they only hear what they want to hear and they're treating me like a second-class citizen in my own life. They have trusted every decision I've made up until this point so why not now with you?"

Fleur placed her hand on top of Hermione's head, stroking her hair softly.

"I never imagined it could be this horrible. I just feel so distant from them. They look like strangers to me, Fleur," Hermione's face contorted in pain as she spoke. "I mean, they're my parents and I know that they love me, right? And I know that I love them. But I just can't feel it… I just don't know."

Fleur opened her mouth but there was a creak on the stairs. Lucy stood at the bottom of the stairs clutching her light blue dressing gown around her body. There seemed to be words perched on the edge of her lips but the older woman did not utter a word. And when she spoke her voice sounded exhausted and strangely empty. But there was pain in her eyes. Lucy had heard every word of what her daughter had said.

"Hermione, honey, it's late." A whisper of a voice.

"I'll be up in a minute," Hermione responded after a moment, her voice pointed and clearly wishing for her mother to leave.

For a moment, Lucy's eyes locked with Fleur. The unspoken words were nearly suffocating. Finally, Lucy nodded and walked back up the stairs.

"You can always come up later…" Hermione started but Fleur only shook her head. "I mean it's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before. And they obviously know that. I don't know what they think they're getting at."

"No. Not tonight. Not until…" Fleur looked away for a moment, unable to deal with the expression she knew was on her lover's face. "I love you very much."

"I love you too," Hermione nodded, crestfallen. She placed two fingers on Fleur's lips before standing up and walking up stairs.

Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded Fleur. Several times in the night she felt as if someone was watching her. But every time she stared into the doorways trying to discern a figure there she could never sure if it was just the dark and her nerves playing tricks on her. Finally she just rolled over and tried to shake the feeling off her skin. She did not dare to turn the lights on. What would she do if it were one of Hermione's parents? Or worse, Hermione and have to face turning her away again? The creaks of the house were strange and unwelcoming to her ears.

* * *

The morning sun glared in past the windows waking Fleur, unrested and stiff from the couch, to a morning she was not looking forward to. As if to make up for the rain before, the sun beat aggressively against the windows. She quickly dressed and brushed her teeth in the downstairs bathroom. She had spent hours back at Hogwarts trying to put together her outfit for that day—something that made her seem younger and yet reliable, honest and mature. Someone worth bringing home to meet your parents. Also something less French seeming, if possible. She was not sure if clothes did that, and in particular her clothes, but this was the best that she could. In the privacy of the bathroom, she took her morning dose. (She decided to leave off from the Nun's Potion for now, only to return a few minutes later to finish off the dose from the night before.)

Fleur had stripped the couch of the sheet, carefully folded the blankets and placed them neatly to the side. And then she sat on the edge of the couch, reading another book about Muggles. She read the same sentence over countless times and never retained the information.

When Hermione's parents walked downstairs to the kitchen, they took the route that avoided the living room. As Fleur continued to read she could hear whispered voices and the putterings of kitchen in the morning, the beginning smells of breakfast. A little bit later, Hermione came downstairs and joined Fleur. At first, the two silently sat next to each other before braving breakfast.

* * *

The four adults sat around the small kitchen table, eye contact avoided by all, and barely a word was spoken amongst them. All chewed idly waiting for Dumbledore. Fleur swallowed more out of a politeness than out of hunger. The strange muggle cereal stuck in her throat. She tried to wash it down with the coffee, but even that tasted strange on her tongue. When her mug was emptied, no one offered to refill it and Fleur did not have the strength to ask for more. It was if she was seventeen all over again and in England for the first time—everything was strange, unfamiliar, and unwelcoming. But this time she had to act as if it wasn't killing her, that this was something she could stand.

Part of her had wished she had slept elsewhere the night before, if only to avoid the tense breakfast. She was jealous that Dumbledore could just show up when it was time and avoid the awkward tension.

Dumbledore and McGonagall arrived just as the breakfast dishes were cleared. Lucy was staring at Fleur strangely when she offered to help, and for a second Fleur had been worried that in her nervousness she had accidentally spoken in French, or worse Veela. But replaying the words in her mind, she realized that she had indeed spoken in English.

She exchanged a quick greeting with both professors, surprised at the intense wave of relief she felt at seeing familiar faces. A comfort from the old world. They made apologies for Pomfrey who would be arriving later. Fleur barely hid the surprise on her face. She had not known the nurse would be in attendance as well. Though logically, it made complete sense.

Shortly after, though he tried to make it seem as if they were doing so, Dumbledore led Hermione and her parents into Thomas' study. Leaving McGonagall and Fleur in the kitchen for the time being.

Fleur did not feel much like talking and McGonagall did not press her. Instead Fleur moved around the kitchen inspecting everything within eye's reach—she did not dare open drawers or cupboards. But she ran her hand over the front of the refrigerator, picked up the toaster, traced her fingers around the buttons on the coffee maker. All fascinating devices whose functions she only partly understood from observing the Grangers.

She traced a cord back the wall. She had read somewhere in one of her Muggle books about electricity. It had something to do with static, with cords and switches and had made no sense to the woman. It seemed to the Veela that the only difference between Wizard magic and Muggle magic was that one used wands and the other wires.

"Fleur," McGonagall scolded after awhile, the loud ticking of the clock wearing on both their nerves. "Can you please stand still and stop fidgeting. You are going to break something."

Fleur looked up from her exploration of the blender. She stopped, but moments later she was inspecting the microwave. Her finger accidentally brushed up against a button causing the inside of the microwave to light up and a strange noise to start humming from within. Both woman frantically stood before the machine trying to discern how to stop it when it stopped suddenly on its own accord only to start beeping until McGonagall accidentally opened the door.

"Fleur, seriously. Sit down and stop touching things. Just breathe for a bit," McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I understand that you are nervous but I seriously doubt that burning down their house or breaking their kitchen machines will help your situation or endure you further to the Grangers."

Fleur exhaled. "I know, I just… I am just so…"

"You just need to calm down. Take a few deep breaths."

"How can I?" Fleur's voice sounded as if it had been dragged across gravel. "Tell me. How can I?" She slammed her hand down on the countertop. "I should be in there with her, not with these infernal kitchen objects. What is this contraption anyway?" She gestured to yet another item that none of her books had mentioned. Why did they have to have so many mechanical objects in the kitchen anyway?

"It's a juicer," Hermione's voice came from behind.

Fleur looked up, dumbstruck.

"They want to speak with all of us now." Hermione's voice, her face was unreadable but clearly shaken.


	32. The Committee

After the wake the Grangers had been far too exhausted to fully deal with the house. While it had been lightly cleaned after the guests had left, most of the house had still not been returned to its natural state by the morning. And such was the condition of Thomas' study. In fact, if anything, today it probably delineated even further.

Several chairs, seven in total, all mismatching and in various levels of discomfort, had been roughly placed in a loose approximation of a circle. Fleur took the unoccupied seat in between Hermione and McGonagall as she was directed and eyed the empty chair in between Dumbledore and Thomas wondering when Pomfrey would show up.

The room was consumed with a near suffocating silence and everyone was seemingly preoccupied with ignoring this fact. Fleur crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her legs to the side before setting about the crucially important task of smoothing down her skirt, her sleeves. As if any crease would be another reason why she would be judged unfit. Hermione tapped her foot irritably, her arms crossed over her chest while Thomas fidgeted with a round, glass paperweight, occasionally passing it back and forth between his hands. The glass caught the morning sunlight and reflected it upon the wall presenting another a momentary distraction for anyone who wanted to look up. McGonagall shifted in her seat, adjusted her glasses and seemed to scratch an itch behind her ear. Dumbledore twisted his beard between his fingertips but otherwise looked comfortable in his faded blue armchair. Lucy coughed, re-crossed her legs, tapped her fingers lightly against her knee. But no one felt moved to say anything.

It was an almost physical relief almost when Pomfrey finally apparated into the study and took the empty seat with an exhausted exhale. She met Hermione's parents with a stiff, formal introduction and a quick but professional handshake. Before she settled fully into her chair, the nurse was already conspicuously eyeing Fleur trying to discern her condition. Fleur tried to look away and avoid that disapproving, knowing look. She feared that hints of the Nun's Potion lingered on her skin's surface there for any knowing eye to see, to judge, to warn her against it with a stronger voice of reason than her own.

"Well, now that we are all here, we can continue," Dumbledore observed.

"What's the point?" Hermione interjected. "I know what I'm doing next and it's not dependent on some meeting. Fleur and I—"

"Hermione, please try to remember your manners and try not to interrupt your Headmaster," Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose, exhausted. "Please tell me we raised you better than this."

"Don't interrupt me to tell me not to interrupt people," Hermione snapped back. "And better than this? I have never disobeyed you or acted out, I merely fell in love and you're acting like I am sort of criminal."

"Please," Fleur held up her hand. How could this already not be going well? "We are all adults here. Can we not discuss matters calmly?"

"I don't want my love life decided by a committee," Hermione glared. Her teenage outrage and frustration clearly evident and it was almost charming. Almost. "I don't know why we're subjecting ourselves to this."

"I am not claiming that it is my preference either, however nothing will be accomplished if we all yell at each other," Fleur exhaled, trying to keep her tone, her temper even. "We are all here to have a discussion and hopefully come to some form of understanding. If we would all try to remain calm, I believe that this whole affair will run much smoothly."

Thomas snorted, repeating the word affair to himself as he shook his head.

"I am calm," Hermione crossed her arms back over her chest and glared at the carpet, her foot once again tapping to an erratic beat. In any other situation Fleur would have placed her hand on Hermione's knee to hopefully calm her lover, or at least put an end to that incessant tapping.

Maybe it was the professor in Fleur, but she found herself trying to take control of the situation. Or maybe if she had some form of control then she could be closer to controlling the outcome, her fate. Her life. "Presently, a great many of us are upset, which is understandable considering the circumstances. However, I believe that this is a matter that we can resolve together. Or at least reach a mutual understanding."

Thomas arched his eyebrow up as Fleur spoke. He seemed to almost be laughing with frustration. "Considering the circumstances? A matter we can resolve? A mutual understanding? Is anyone else hearing this? This woman is manipulating and taking advantage of my daughter and this is all she can say?"

"Dad!" Hermione burst, indignant.

"Do you really think your mother and I would fall for some bollocks condition where if you don't love this French woman she'll die?" Thomas gripped the paperweight in his hand, his knuckles turning that familiar shade of white. "It's absolutely ridiculous. And honestly, I thought better of you. I thought you were smarter than this."

"Smarter than this?" Hermione glared coldly, the hurt still clearly evident in her voice barely masked by her indignation. "I don't know who you think I've become but your displays of confidence are fully appreciated."

"Fleur's condition is very much real,  even if your comprehension of it remains somewhat shaky," McGonagall interceded. "Pomfrey, our school nurse, can vouch for that."

"One of your people, of course," Thomas eyed both McGonagall and Pomfrey with skepticism.

"I think what my husband is trying to say is that it's, well, quite rather convenient for you to fly in, pop in or whatever your own expert on the matter. Not that we're trying to imply that Hogwarts has anything to gain from this… relationship," Lucy leaned forward as she spoke. "But even so, perhaps if we had one of our own doctors who we already know and trust to also look at… to examine Ms. Delacour and her apparent condition. After all, a second opinion never hurt anyone. It's a quite common and accepted practice. At least in our world."

"While we might be able to bend magical law to do so—after some considerable time, mind you, I am quite afraid that a Muggle doctor would be completely unable to understand what he or she was looking at." Pomfrey interjected. "It is a magical ailment. It requires a magical understanding."

"Well what would he or she see?" Lucy pressed. "Explain this magical ailment to us then. A disease is a disease, isn't it?"

"Fleur's condition is a complete weakening of the muscle tissue in the heart that, while potentially curable within the right conditions, is also potentially fatal. This muscle weakening results in low blood pressure, shortness of breath, arrhythmias, fainting, and eventually, if untreated, total heart failure among other symptoms. It's quite similar to stress cardiomyopathy, except while that is only experienced for a short time Fleur has had this condition for upwards of three years. The physical wear and tear of that alone… " Pomfrey shook her head. "There would be no explanation that they could give for the longevity of such a condition, no outlying cause, no ability to foresee the upcoming stages, no offered remedy. As I understand your medical system, it would be test after inclusive test. Fleur's condition is a pervasive, magically-induced heart failure completely beyond muggle medical comprehension."

"And we are to take your words on this?" Thomas released his grip slightly on the paperweight that he had been clenching for some time as he spoke. "We're supposed to trust you? Again, like we always do. We just trust you lot with our daughter. All this time we've trusted Hogwarts. And frankly it hasn't served us all that well in the past, has it? In her first year we received a phone call about an 'incident with a troll.' A troll for God's sake! Who knew they even existed? Her second year she is paralyzed for months and we aren't even allowed to bring her home despite there being a large snake—"

"Basilisk," Hermione muttered underneath her breath.

"A large, lethal snake was roaming around in the school's sewers," Thomas persisted on his speech. "Year after year, we receive phone call after phone call from you people about the most recent peril you've allowed her to get in. But despite this, each year she insists and so we send her back. And almost every year it's something isn't it? 'An incident at the Ministry' was one of my personal favorite calls from you people. How did she even get to London from Hogwarts? Wasn't anyone watching or supposed to be in charge of that kind of thing? I don't know what kind of world you live in, but in ours fifteen year olds do not go around battling full-grown adults in government buildings! And I feel like a right fool, trusting you lot as long as I did. So maybe I shouldn't be surprised that she's sleeping with one of her professors at the approval of both her Headmaster and Head of House."

"It's not…" Hermione mumbled, turning red. "I mean, yes. But we're not…"

Ignoring his daughter, Thomas plowed on, his face growing red with anger. "I'm sorry that you'll just have to excuse my hesitancy in trusting your word about this woman's condition. No wait, I'm not sorry. There should have been a line drawn long ago, however I'm drawing it now so help me God. There is only so much of this bollocks a man can take! And it's my daughter! My child, do you hear me? My only child. And you're letting her date, allowing her to sleep with her professor."

"Dad!"

"Hermione has not led a boring childhood," Dumbledore stated simply and calmly, unbothered by Thomas' harsh tone. "However, there are some points I feel I must clarify. First of all, Hogwarts as an institution neither approves nor disapproves of their relationship and only became aware of its existence when you did. However, as an institution we do our best to support our staff, students, and parents and to help cultivate an understanding between all parties when necessary. And this is why, I remind you all, we are here today. Hogwarts, as an institution, only wants to reach a solution, or as Fleur stated it so well earlier, a mutual understanding that all parties can be mostly satisfied with." Dumbledore continued politely over Thomas, who seemed about to interject at the nearest opportunity. "And while this might be of lesser note, I should also explain that Miss Delacour, due in part to her age, is a lecturer and research fellow on a one year temporary contract and not technically a professor. While she teaches the subject, assigns material and work, she does not have a final say in grades. She never has nor ever will have control over the final outcome of your daughter's marks."

"She still teaches the class. She is still in a place of authority, which she is abusing openly," Thomas glared, as if Dumbledore was missing the point entirely.

"If I ever thought for even a moment that I was in anyway taking advantage of your daughter…" Fleur protested. She had taken her time, had been careful with every step to make sure that Hermione was right alongside her. Now to be accused of just the opposite, of abusing a position that had in many ways only hurt and hindered their relationship? And openly? Despite the incident in the hallway, she and Hermione had done their best to be anything but open. However to admit at this juncture that they tried to keep their relationship a secret was, in itself, an omission of guilt. No one keeps a secret if they have nothing to hide after all. "For the past three years I have—"

"Wait, how long exactly has this relationship been going on?" Lucy looked up, surprise and shock across her features. How deep did the lies go?

"Less than a year. Partway through the first term," Fleur closed her eyes, realizing that she had said too much of the wrong thing. If only they had let her finish.

"You said three years. And your nurse said you've had your condition for three years. So even if this so-called relationship has been going on for less than a year then… you were planning this from the start, weren't you? You always intended to seduce our daughter." Thomas' anger only seemed to rise as he slowly put matters together.

"Dad!"

"Seduce is not the word I would chose in this situation." Fleur fought to find some footing in the situation. She fought the sinking feeling that every time she spoke she only lost more ground. "It is true that I have loved your daughter for a very long time. Again, I repeat, I have never felt as if I forced myself on her or manipulated her in any measure and I have been painstakingly careful on those points. Our relationship is, in many ways, entirely in Hermione's hands." Fleur shook her head, disgusted. Who did they think she was? (And was she, in the end, that person?) "If you think me to be such a person you have me sorely mistaken and I pray for a chance where you would someday allow yourself to know me better than that. And if you think your daughter is one to be manipulated and tricked then I believe you to be severely underestimating Hermione. She is an extremely brilliant and capable individual."

"I think we are all aware of Hermione's intelligence and talents. But she is also young and as such is part a group that is not always known for their smart choices in love," Lucy spoke softly, her tone almost neutral in its illegibility, as she re-crossed her legs. "I mean, honey, wasn't it only a few years ago during that you were mentioning some Bulgarian, Viktor was it?" (Bulgarians.) "And now you tell us you love this French woman?"

"Mom, I was fourteen," Hermione pleaded, shifting uncomfortably.

"And now you are seventeen and telling me that this woman, your professor, is someone who you love? So what happens when you're twenty or thirty? Who will you love then, I wonder? Do you truly believe that she will be this important to you then? If so much can change in three years, what is going to happen in ten or over the rest of your life?" It was clear that Lucy was trying to keep her voice as calm and nurturing as possible.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation right now otherwise." Hermione's face was steeled over in determination. Her eyes found Fleur's, a small smile creeping upon her serious features.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation right now if we didn't walk in on you two sleeping together!" Thomas interjected.

"First off, I would like to make it clear that we were sleeping together only in the sense that we were sleeping together in the same—rather large, mind you—bed." As Fleur spoke, she turned bright red. "I find the concept of virginity useless barnacle of the past." Vestige, she had only realized too late. She had meant to say vestige.  "While my and her virginity is a private matter, I assure you that both are entirely in tact. If need be, I will willingly take Veritaserum potion to prove this fact." She exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself and to prevent herself from any further embarrassment. "Please, if the main issue here is that I am your daughter's professor this matter can easily be remedied. I will resign my post, effective immediately." Fleur held up her hands, a universal sign of truce, of 'I give up.' There were battles to be won and lost.

"Fleur, no! You can't do that!" Hermione protested. 

Thomas snorted.

"Fleur, seriously consider what you are saying. The second term is not even half over, think of the students. You're not teaching Divinations, the children actually need what you are teaching, especially in a time such as this. We won't be able to replace you on such short notice," McGonagall looked stunned.

But what was Fleur giving up? She had no intention to remain a professor. In fact she only became a professor in hopes to win Hermione's love. If the position was now what stood in between her and her love, her life? It seemed like an easy enough solution to the French woman. And she fully trusted Dumbledore's capabilities in finding a last minute replacement for her, perhaps someone more experienced. She had always secretly wondered if Dumbledore had chosen her over a more capable candidate due to her condition.

"I won't accept that," Thomas shook his head. "I won't accept this."

"Then please, Monsieur, tell me what I can do or what you will accept in this situation." 

"You can't undo what you've already done to our family," Thomas' voice was coldly final.

"She didn't _do_ anything Dad!"

"No, Hermione, I did." Fleur exhaled slowly. "I am not claiming I can undo what I have done, and if am allowed a moment's honesty, nor do I want to. However, we seem to have reached an impassé and I, for one, desire to move forward." Fleur leaned forward as if to physically illustrate her point (to brace herself on her elbows, on her knees). She tried to seem strong but as the conversation progressed she only felt progressively weaker. In truth, she leaned forward for support.

The room around her began to slip from her grasp. She felt lightheaded as the room started to spin. But unsure how to brace herself with any sense of stealth, she forced herself to sit up straight. Gripping the edge of her chair and holding her body stiff, Fleur attempted to fight off the dizziness by sheer willpower alone. Her mind fixated on her vials of potions. Where were they? In her bag in the living room. Far away. She should have known. She should have known to take a double dose, the stress alone even without the lack of sleep should have made that obvious. She should have known to keep one on her just in case. Could she excuse herself, at a time like this, for a dose? (Could she walk that far? No.) It was not possible.

"Fleur, are you…?" Pomfrey leaned in, her voice soft, trying to catch the Veela's eye. The attention of the room shifted. Hermione extended a hand out to Fleur.

Fleur waved her hand as if this lone and feeble gesture would dismiss the concern of both Pomfrey and her girlfriend. She dared not speak, suddenly afraid of what her voice would sound like. And she dared not to look in Pomfrey's direction for she could not handle that knowing, worried look in the older woman's eyes. Let alone the concern etched onto her lover's face. Her body would simply have to wait until after the meeting. There was no other choice in the matter, Fleur decided. Her body would wait. It had to. (If only she could see how pale her skin had become. If only she could accept that bodies never truly waited for convenient times.)

"Oh and now this ruse again, I see? Trying to distract us from the heart of the matter," Thomas glared.

The heart of the matter. The heart. Fleur felt herself smile, perhaps a bit twisted from her physical discomfort, but a smile just the same.

"Dad, stop it! Can't you see that she's sick?" Hermione stood up, placing her body defensively in between her girlfriend and her father.

Fleur, focusing on the ground, did not see what silent reply, if any, that Thomas made. And maybe he spoke—she didn't, couldn't hear if he did. She was trying to be strong, trying to seem as healthy as possible. Trying to keep it together. (And failing.) Once again betrayed by her own body. All she could focus on was her breathing, beyond hoping that no one would notice.

"It doesn't matter what you say or do, nothing will change the fact that I love her," Hermione's words felt like a cooling balm, a steadying hand on Fleur's shoulder. "I love her and she makes me happy."

"You're a child, Hermione, what do you know about love or commitment? You don't even know what you're saying."

When Fleur opened her eyes, the dizziness slowly seeming to subside, Hermione and her father were standing but a few inches apart.

"You're not capable of making this kind of decision. You have no idea what you're talking about. You say those words but you know nothing!"

"How would you know?" Hermione's voice was cold in its anger. "I know a lot more than you think I do and you don't know me."

"You are a child, my child!" Thomas shouted.

"Barely." A near whisper filled with venom.

Lucy stiffened and recoiled as if slapped, as if gutted. Fleur wanted to look away but she could not seem to avert her eyes. Thomas shook with rage, trembled at his daughter's words. Fleur only saw his arm raise—only slightly above shoulder height, the glass paperweight lodged deep within his trembling fist.

Acting on instinct, her threadbare physical state forgotten, Fleur's chair tumbled to the ground as she jolted forward. In the second between sitting and standing, her body was different, changed, the sharper and harsher veela form no longer lying coyly below her surface. Her biology no doubt had found its own answer to the problem at hand.

But Fleur wasn't thinking about why she shifted, she was only aware that she had. While it had only occurred a few times before in her life, it was an unmistakable sensation. It was not a painful transformation, but the shift into her veela form was always a vaguely unpleasant, tingling sensation that ran down her spine, across her skin, under her fingernails, a hardening, a readjusting, a resettling of her skin and muscles.

It all happened so fast that no one had time to prepare. The raising of Thomas' arm, paperweight tightly in hand—though clearly only as a gesture of his frustration, the shift from human to veela, it all happened in a matter of seconds. And poor Thomas and Lucy, who had never seen a veela before. Who barely knew what a veela was. And now they were face to face with the physicality, the reality of one. Lucy released a noise of surprise, not quite a gasp, not quite a shriek. The paperweight slipped from Thomas' fingertips, shattering upon impact against the hardwood floor.

Fleur never saw the glass settle. Her tentative hold on the world slipped out from between her fingers the moment she realized Hermione was safe. As the black spots multiplied filling her vision, Fleur was only aware of her veela form descending back underneath her human skin. Hiding, waiting until it would be needed again. A familiar nausea took over and suddenly everything seemed more important, more urgent, yet more distant. She tried to focus on her breathing, tried to remember how to inhale, how to exhale in a steady rhythm, how to rejoin the world but consciousness was only getting in the way. Vaguely in the distance she sensed a familiar voice desperately shouting her name. A familiar warmth covering, holding her. There seemed to be a question floating just out of the grasp of her ears. A weight was gripping her body, sinking her thoughts down, scattering them beyond her reach, beyond her ability to care that there were even questions. Fleur was barely aware of her body crumpling, falling to the ground. The darkness before her eyes only seemed natural and entirely necessary.

* * *

It felt like only a second later when Fleur opened her eyes, slightly more rested than the moment before when she had been standing. When she had been standing. Even before her eyes opened, she realized that she was standing no longer. It all slowly came back into focus. Pomfrey's face looming above her. Her eyes traced back the warm sensation on one of her extremities to discover Hermione, perched on the edge of the bed (how did she get in a bed?) encapsulating one of Fleur's hands within both of hers. The relief, the worry was apparent on both women's faces. And then in the background McGonagall was standing by the door, arms crossed. Relieved as well. And further back sat Hermione's parents at the edge of the room, exhausted. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Fleur vaguely remembered this room as the guest room Hermione had led her past the night before.

"Fleur!" Hermione whispered her smile. "Thank Merlin."

"How long…" Fleur reached up to push a few strands of hair out of her face, as if doing so would also push away that overriding exhaustion that had set deeper into her bones. Part of her was vaguely disappointed when this did not actually occur.

"A while now, dear," Pomfrey's voice sounded drained. From her tone alone Fleur felt no desire to press how long 'a while now' was. Long enough, clearly. Her eyes flickered to the window—it was still light out at least. "Where are your potions?"

"In my leather satchel," Fleur knew better than try to get out of bed. "Downstairs, next to sofa." No sooner had she spoken than McGonagall exited the room with the swish of urgency.

"Dumbledore had to return to Hogwarts," Pomfrey noted. "Something came up."

Thomas snorted. "Something always does at that school."

"Well it is a castle filled with teenagers. Teenagers have a way of conjuring things up," Pomfrey observed dryly.

"Can we please not do this?" Fleur could hear the pleading in her voice. "I apologize for making demands in someone else's home but I am incredibly exhausted and I doubt that I can handle another passionate disagreement parading around as a conversation where no one is actually listening to each other." A pause. "And I apologize shortness of my words," Fleur propped herself up slightly (and awkwardly as she refused to relinquish her hold on her lover's hand). She was even more unsure of how to act around Hermione's parents now that they had seen her veela form and it put her on edge. How much more of a monster was she in their eyes now? "And while on the subject of apologies, I apologize as well for fainting. It was perhaps a bit rude and selfish of me even if entirely involuntary."

For a moment, no one spoke. The Grangers shifted uncomfortably.

"This is not some ruse to escape another dose, is it?" Pomfrey eyed Fleur carefully, her tone taking an increasingly scolding one. "Really, a woman of your age and talents should know better than this especially by now. You've had this condition since you were seventeen. And yet, first you under dose your medication, you sleep on a sofa—a sofa, and in your condition! And now, after fainting and remaining unconscious for over an hour you still try to find ways to avoid your medicine? If I didn't know any better I would guess you woke up this morning sorely lacking the second decade of your life and most of your reasoning skills along with it."

Fleur shook her head mutely. Her days of avoiding her potion were long over. She had meant to protest, to say that she would willingly take a double dose because she knew she needed it. But Thomas spoke before she could.

"Seventeen… three years," Thomas repeated slowly doing the math in his head. "You are twenty years old?"

"I was born in 1977," Fleur spoke, trying to clarify the point. And then it suddenly began to make more sense to her, how old and exhausted she must look to them. She had seen it in the mirror so many times before that she had forgotten a time when she looked younger. When she had actually looked her age. How old exactly did she look now to strangers now? She was filled with an urge to suddenly reach up and examine her face to try find any trace of wrinkles that were not there.

"A bit young for a professor," Thomas remarked after a moment.

"As Dumbledore explained, I am not a full professor due in part to my age. I only have a one-year contract as a research fellow and lecturer. It will be up when…" When Hermione loved her, when the courtship ritual was completed? "When Dumbledore has hopefully found someone to take over the position in its entirety. My subject of interest unfortunately is known for its rather, well, high turnover rate as of late at the school."

As Fleur spoke, McGonagall returned with the familiar leather satchel clutched within her hand. Fleur felt immediate relief when the bag was handed to her instead of to Pomfrey. Slipping her hand out of Hermione's, the Frenchwoman sifted through her satchel's contents careful not to reveal any of its contents, such as an undergarment or the wrong potion.

The right dose in hand, Fleur covered her face to the best of her ability with her hand before swallowing the dose. Her weakness in its full glory was not yet entirely for public display, her facial contortions a private matter. Perhaps it was the placebo affect but, after recovering from the initial embarrassment she almost instantly began to feel better, more revived and refresh. Slightly more human than the moment before.

"I believe that I have much to explain." She spoke not without reluctance and with all the weight of all the words that she was about to say. The energy of the room seemed to alter. It seemed more receptive, as if the Grangers—all of them—would truly be able to listen now. "About what you saw, who and what I am, and my condition."

"While you were… Hermione and Professor McGonagall began to explain to us what a veela is," Lucy spoke hesitantly. Hermione's parents, Fleur could see now, were more subdued, curious. Thomas was holding onto his wife's hand, looking at Fleur for the first time if she was human. Which was strange considering that she had recently just demonstrated just how not human she could become at times.

"Then allow me to tell you the truth behind so many tales. You have heard the stories, I am sure, of fairies and sirens often in the guise of a beautiful woman, an enchanting voice either aiding travelers or luring them to their demise, captivating a young traveler with their charms. The traveler falls in love with this creature only to be abandoned later for a variety of reasons. While these stories are generally," Fleur waved her hand in the air as if to denounce them physically, "erroneous over exaggerations, I must admit they are based on some parcels of truth. And for the most part, at least the tales about the beautiful creatures are based on veelas, if one allows me to be so vain. Not always, mind you, but enough for one to assume." Fleur felt herself slipping into professor mode, distancing herself from the lesson. Turn to the next page of her reality and her existence, class is now in session.

"Veelas, we are secretive about our true nature, about our history, our needs—more so now than ever. I must admit, our history, the history of veelas, most of it is enwrapped in these folklores. It is hard to separate fact from fiction, yes? Among our scholars there is an active debate about how valid these tales are. Some claim it is karma; perhaps a curse placed upon our species in consequence of how we treated travelers or perhaps it was designed as a metaphor to help understand the condition we truly find ourselves with. Narratives, after all, are the backbone of a culture, however one must be aware of who is telling the tale. But most believe that we have always been this way," Fleur gestured to her body, weak and near trembling, "utterly dependent on love to survive. "

"It is… comical on some universal level, perhaps. On the onset of puberty, our bodies emit strong pheromones that enhance, again if you allow me to be so vain, our inherent magical charms. Most humans succumb to our charm and easily fall under out thrall, if you will. It is, surprisingly enough, our best natural defense. Humans, those without veela blood, often agree to every word we say thoughtlessly. They pronounce their undying affections without ever knowing us. My people experience a parody of love at first sight as part of our every day life. It is a form of hell, I should think." Fleur twisted her face, a contortion similar to when she would take her potion. "You have noticed this, perhaps, with some of your guests at the funeral. You see, as it often is, our strength is our weakness.This… effect we have on people—that has no correspondence to who we actually are—comes coupled with an intense need for love."

Fleur scanned the room, waiting to see if everyone had followed her up to this point. They appeared to be. "After puberty there is only a certain amount of time before our bodies begin to deteriorate. Biologically, we cannot survive much into our twenties without a mate. In extreme cases, we die." Fleur bit her lip. "However, I would like to believe that to be a rare circumstance." A pained yet reassuring smile. "Whoever we couple with, you must understand, it is for life. We recognize our mate, an individual who is absolutely immune to our thrall, on sight. The problem with this recognition is that this love is not guaranteed to be mutual. However, once our mate is identified, it is close to impossible to find another."

"For centuries, it was rare, if not altogether unheard of for a veela to mate with a non-veela. First of all, not enough humans had developed an immunity to our thrall. It is something that has developed over time and appears to be passed down through families similar, if you will, to eye color. Mostly importantly, however, a veela mating with a human was rare because to do so is often a painful process. Human love works along a different, slower timeline than our bodies are accustomed. Or could survive. Instead of hours or days at best, humans find love over months, years, sometimes decades. And humans are fickle, they love you one day but the next? Perhaps that is why we veelas left so many travelers. Or why so many travelers left us." A pained, upturn smile on the corner of her lips. "The process of a veela taking their mate is known as the courtship ritual. The main point of the ritual is attaining consensus, a deep understanding. With a human, this ritual involves a far amount more caution, we shall say. Like with veela, the human has to be completely in love of their own will but this is considerably harder to attain."

Fleur took a moment to catch her breath. Again, she looked around the room, very aware of how much she was talking. However no one, not even Thomas, appeared as if they were going to interrupt. "Now this is the important part: if the human does not completely and truly love the veela but the ritual still occurs through to completion, the results are dire for the veela though largely inconsequential for the human. It is a situation that has to be, to the best of our abilities, avoided at all cost. You must understand our difficulty with this. Falling in love with a human is a dangerous proposition for us." Fleur's eyes did not leave Hermione, trying to read her face, her body language in response to her words. But in that moment Hermione gave nothing away. "However with time, veelas… we began dying out. In order to survive, we have been forced to branch out as it were and accept more risk into our lives. And in a way, I believe, that this was good for us."

Fleur inhaled, taking a few moments to catch her breath. "The war against the Dark Lord, it was hard on everyone. I am not sure how much of our history you have, Monsieur and Madame Granger, especially in regards to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" The two silently seemed to indicate that they had heard a little. "The first war against him, it drove my people almost to near extinction. We are easy to destroy on some levels. Usually it is only a matter of destroying our mate, two for the price of one you see. After the war…" Fleur's face twitched, twisted and she pushed it all away. "Well, nothing is the same after a war, I imagine. I am not a full-blooded veela by any means. My grandmother was, but both my grandfather and my father are human. However I am veela enough that the biology still affects me deeply. And I will not deceive you. I am surpassing the allotted time that my body can withstand and am almost entirely dependent on potions. My heart, my body has been slowly deteriorating since I was seventeen, since I first saw your daughter." Her voice was soft, her monologue reaching its completion. "My condition, however, is not due to your daughter. It is due to my bloodline, my certain biology and heritage if you will. And I can continue being ill for quite some time. For you see, there is only one cure and Hermione is nowhere near ready for that."

"Fleur, you don't know that!" Hermione protested.

"And our daughter, she is this mate that you're looking for?" Thomas spoke shakily.

Fleur looked at Hermione and the two women exchanged a look, a smile. "She is. If she truly wishes to be, then yes." Fleur dared not mention that if not Hermione then Fleur had no intention to even try, that Hermione had completed the seal and there was no going back. At least for Fleur.

"How do you know if I'm ready or not?" Hermione spoke more softly.

"I love your daughter, yes. Greatly, in fact. I have for three years." Fleur spoke plainly, ignoring, for now, her lover. 

"She was fourteen…" Lucy did the math, her tone breathless.

"So the reason you are still ill is because the courtship ritual hasn't happened?" Thomas pressed.

"I love your daughter but I… patience in all matters, yes? You must remember, it must be real. You cannot rush love, especially humans in love. It will only work if she truly loves me. So, yes. I loved her when she was fourteen and I waited for as long as I could so that she would be old enough. The last thing I ever wanted was to rush her—it would be disastrous for the both of us, hm?" Fleur wore a broken, a tired, smile. "However, I will not lie. The courtship ritual, in many ways, has already begun between us."

"And what does this ritual entail?" Lucy leaned forward, perhaps expecting a wedding ceremony, something a mother could help with and plan, a bonding experience between mother and daughter (and the daughter's lesbian lover).

Fleur felt her cheeks flush, her eyes averted downward. Hermione shifted slightly, suddenly quite enraptured with her shoes.

"Oh." Lucy nodded. "Oh indeed. I see…"

* * *

Leaning into Hermione, Fleur made it down the stairs to the dining room table. It was not so much out of necessity but rather to have an excuse for physical contact with her lover. McGonagall and Pomfrey had returned to Hogwarts. Fleur and Hermione would be returning the next day, after her strength had returned somewhat—if it had returned enough. The Frenchwoman sat down at the table with a shy smile, in between Hermione and Lucy, across from Thomas. It was the first time they had interacted since the afternoon. Pomfrey had pleaded Fleur's need to rest before leaving and Hermione's parents needed to begin to digest what they had just heard. Fleur had slept until dinner. Hermione had apparently caught up on homework, but Fleur imagined that there had been at least some sort of conversation between Hermione and her parents. The feeling in the room was different from before, even from when Fleur explained her heritage. It was calmer, less strained, and quieter. It seemed as if so many words had been spoken that, at first, there was none left for the meal.

The food was simple, English but filling, nourishing in a comfortable way. Fleur could easily imagine Hermione growing up on such healthy food. And while there was an awkwardness to the situation, it was an improvement from the day before, from the morning, from the afternoon. She was no longer the evil professor hell bent on manipulating their daughter. No, if anything now she was something scarier, something without a defined solution or a set protocol. She was their daughter's lover, seemingly the only one they'd ever meet, and Hermione's parents were doing their best to try and accept that.

Conversation experienced a few shaky mis-starts before it finally took hold. Thomas bragged that his wife made excellent curry, as long as she remembered the coriander—that she had gotten her recipe from an Indian woman who used to be one of their dental hygienists. Fleur expressed a hope to someday try this famous curry. Lucy then asked Fleur about her family and Fleur responded warmly with natural happiness and anecdotes about her beautiful mother, her doting father, and her rebellious sister. Fleur then led the conversation back towards the Grangers dental practice. Fleur was surprise by how both Thomas and Lucy seemed truly passionate about dentistry. Who knew that teeth could be so exciting? Though it gave a glimmer to the roots of Hermione's passionate nature. They shared a joint practice within easy commuting distance and offered to show it to Fleur before she returned to Hogwarts. Hermione rolled her eyes, a bit embarrassed.

After dinner, Hermione helped Fleur back into the guest room—Fleur had thankfully been upgraded from the sofa. In her room there sat a monolithic black box, a television apparently. The blonde had read about them, seen illustrations. This television was connected to another, different black box through a series of convoluted wires for some purpose relating to entertainment. From what she could tell, it made a strange yet rather boring and ineffective mirror. Fleur settled on the bed, content to watch her girlfriend fidget with the modern Muggle technology.

Suddenly from the gray glass colors, movement, and noise came crashing forth.  Fleur yelped in surprise. Here were the moving pictures that the Muggles had seemed to be missing—but they were so loud. She was quickly learning that in England it always rained and that all of Muggle technology was bound to be noisy. No doubt smiling to herself as she shook her head, Hermione slipped a smaller rectangular object—a VHS? And what did that even stand for?—within one of the first boxes and suddenly another set of images appeared onto the screen.

Hermione returned to the bed and settled deep within Fleur's arms where she remained until long after the movie had ended. It apparently had been a classic Muggle tale,  _Romeo and Juliet_. Fleur tried to explain that the Wizarding community had their own version, but Hermione just placed her fingertip on Fleur's lips, quieting her and insisting that the Muggle version was far superior. Watching the people in silly outfits, speaking in outdated tongues, and dying unnecessarily did not exactly convince Fleur of this point. However, she would be the last to admit it. At least for now.

Lucy poked her head in, towels in hand, and awkwardly mentioned that they should all get some sleep. Hermione protested somewhat about how it was unfair that Fleur could not sleep in her bed, but she was silenced quickly by the looks on both Lucy and Fleur's faces. Small steps after all. The lovers kissed goodnight—somewhat awkwardly as Lucy was watching.

After Hermione left, Lucy lingered for a moment longer leaning against the doorframe before crossing into the room and laying the neatly folded towels on a nearby chair.

"In case you need them," Lucy smiled tentatively.

"Thank you," Fleur smiled. Her eyes followed the older woman carefully. It seemed as if she had something else she wanted to say.

"You know what surprised us initially was not that you were a woman but that you are her professor, lecturer, or whomever. To be honest, we had thought or rather wondered for some time, at least abstractly… It's always different, of course, when…" Lucy rested her hand on the bed frame for a moment, and then as if having second thoughts, she took her hand back instead choosing to hook her thumbs around her belt loops. "She thinks that we don't know her and maybe we don't, at least not as well as we used to. But we are her parents and there are certain things one's parents know if they watch carefully enough. She is our only daughter, the only one we have to watch." And when Lucy spoke, she seemed somewhat pained and sorry about her final statement. Fleur did not quite know how to respond to the information presented to her.

"Before she left for school this year, I took her Diagon Alley," there was a distant smile on Lucy's face. "We bought all these potions, magical cosmetics I had never heard of. I had no idea what any of them were, I was completely useless in something that as her mother I would have never anticipated to be. Instead of showing her eye liner technique, it was these potions, these elixirs... But we learned together and it was the first real mother-daughter bonding experience we've had in a long time. Maybe too long. She's slipping from us, I know. Maybe this is how all parenting relationships go? Perhaps, I don't know. I only have her and my parents and I… it was different." Fleur wanted to ask how, but on some level she knew better. "While we still might be... adjusting to this situation, it is never our intention to drive her further away. As much as this morning might have seemed... contrary. So, just, give us, Thomas especially, a little patience."

Fleur nodded. "Of course. But perhaps this is something you should tell Hermione as well?" 

"Of course, of course. Listen to me," Lucy laughed self-consciously. "I come in to bring you towels and I chat your ear off."

"Madame Granger—"

"Lucy, please."

"Lucy, she loves you both very much. Matters would not have been so heated otherwise," Fleur sat up slightly. "And I trust you know that I love her very much. I would never want to hurt her."

"I can see that," Lucy nodded, as if fully realizing it for the first time. "If… if what you say is true, and you really are that sick, then why…? I mean my daughter seems to care for you immensely. Loves you even. She has never talked back to us or challenged us in such a way before. I know it is hard to believe but she and Thomas usually get along quite well."

Fleur exhaled slowly. "It is more complicated than that. I need to know that she is ready. I need to know to the best of my ability that she will not regret it. I could never do that to her."

"Do you faint often?" Lucy tipped her head slightly to side, carefully examining Fleur.

"It is not an activity I try and make a habit of, no." Fleur shook her head, suddenly wishing that she were standing instead of sitting propped up in bed. But it would be too awkward now to do so.

"Perhaps, Fleur, by holding back you are hurting more than just yourself."

Fleur opened her mouth, unable to respond.

Hermione poked her head in, her face still glistening a bit from washing it for the night. A concerned look on her face. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing, honey. I was just bringing her towels and seeing if there was anything else she needed tonight." Lucy smiled, her eyes full of love and devotion to her daughter.

"I am sorted for the evening," Fleur smiled. "Thank you for the towels and… everything."


	33. Going the Distance

Fleur sat next to Hermione in the backseat of the Granger's car. Thomas drove and animatedly (nervously) discussed dentistry, at times barely seeming to stop to breath. Until meeting Hermione's parents, Fleur had no idea that there was so much to be said about teeth, especially by the English. He skipped back and forth throughout the (mostly one-sided) conversation between describing new techniques and their evolution to probing Fleur about magical dentistry. Constantly remarking how stunned he was that wizards did so little, relied so strongly on potions and spells when it came to their oral health.

From time to time, Hermione interjected mumbling comments about how most people did not like to go to the dentist, and in fact most often hated it. "If anything, people would probably prefer the wizard way if they had the choice."

Fleur could see Thomas rolling his eyes from the rear view mirror. Hermione fixing her front teeth magically was something still a bit of a soft spot in her family. "Sure, everyone hates seeing the dentist, over what? A few moments of discomfort every couple of months and then the perfectly reasonable bill that everyone seems to complain about. But a toothache can ruin not only an evening or a weekend but a year, if not more. Whole lives can be spent miserable because of some childish avoidance of the dentist. It's ridiculous!" As his rant began to pick up a familiar speed and tone, Fleur could not help but smile to herself as she looked out the window. Thomas spoke in the same excited passion that Hermione would use discussing some grave injustice she longed so badly to right.

"Regular trips to the dentist not only maintain your health, but help to improve your quality of life." Thomas continued on his rant. "That's the problem with human society, no long term thinking. Instant gratification and short-term solutions only. Throughout history this has been proven time and time again, but it's only getting worse now with all this technology. Television, dishwashers, telephones, microwaves in every home enslaving us to this or that for faster, faster, now, now, now." He snapped his fingers, letting go temporarily of the steering wheel with one hand to illustrate. "I hate to see what the future holds in store for our constant need of now. What about tomorrow, what about the future? Good oral health is a strong prevention to heart disease and-..."

"Dad, I know." It was apparent from Hermione's tone that she had heard this tirade countless times before.

At this point, Lucy interjected by pointing out a store that the car was quickly approaching. "Hermione, honey, don't you like this store? Didn't you buy that jumper you like from there?"

"Mom, no. I haven't liked that store since I was like twelve," Hermione shook her head, hiding her embarrassment with annoyance. "And I have no idea what jumper you're talking about."

Looking at the store, Fleur could not quite see why her girlfriend was covering her face in her hand. True, judging from the window displays, it seemed a bit too girly for Hermione and more like a shop Pavarti or Lavender might enjoy. But nothing so bad as to illicit such an embarrassed response.

"I was never much of a fan of it, myself," Lucy continued on, as if unbothered by her child's response. "Quite frankly, I'm a bit relieved. Too much pink simply is not healthy for a woman if you ask me. A woman needs a bit more rainbow in her wardrobe."

"Mom!" Hermione groaned.

Fleur, for her part, was not sure she how well she hid the surprise that flashed across her face or the blush on her cheek in reaction to what Lucy had said before trying to hide her laughter from her lover. Hermione shot her a look that very much seemed to say that Fleur needed to remember whose side she was on.

A few minutes later the car pulled into a small parking lot behind a small cluster of buildings. Despite the unassuming and near identical nature of all the buildings, it was fairly easy to locate their destination. While shaped like all the other signs, Granger Family Denistry's sign was not only proudly baring both Hermione's parents names and riddled with random assortment of letters, it also bore a depiction of a tooth happily holding a toothbrush. Fleur, however, was not entirely sure she ever needed to see a tooth smiling at her.

Crossing the short stretch of pavement to the front door, Thomas brandished a small ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. Normally open on Wednesdays, their dental practice was closed until next week due to the funeral. A sign was taped to the door apologizing for the inconvenience stating when they would re-open and numbers to call if it was an emergency.

Inside, the office had a strange, sterile smell. Fleur's eyes wandered around the space, afraid to touch anything. The walls were painted a warm white. The reception area was filled with partially comfortable chairs, magazines with motionless pictures, and a wall of color-coded files behind a desk. As her eyes scanned the room, Fleur was not entirely comfortable in the space. While perhaps designed to be quite the contrary, Fleur easily understood why people might dread having to summon themselves to such a waiting room. 

Fleur was momentarily surprised to see a young woman sitting behind the desk in front of another box-like Muggle contraption—a computer, was it? The woman appeared to be around Fleur's age, her red hair pulled back in a perky ponytail and she seemed unable to sit still. Her foot could be heard tapping rhythmically behind the desk. Her finger tapped silently against a large, disposable coffee container. Nearby, seemingly both forgotten and empty, stood a second disposable coffee cup with a rather prominent red lipstick stain on the strange mouthpiece Muggles had devised to make it easier to drink and walk at the same time. 

"Hello Emma," Thomas smiled. "On to your second cup already? It is not even eleven."

"Mr and Mrs. Granger!" The younger woman bolted up, though if it was due to being startled or the caffeine it was hard for Fleur to discern. "And Hermione. Hello! I didn't hear you come in." She paused for a moment, biting her lip as if trying to figure out how to continue. "I know I said it on the phone earlier, but I am truly, truly, truly sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do, I mean besides coming in and keeping things sorted and re-scheduling all the clients, please let me know. I know what it's like. I mean I haven't personally had a parent die before but… an aunt, who I was well tight with, you know, still entirely different of course." Emma took a slight breath seemingly to steady herself. "I did not know you were coming in today. Not that you can't, of course. This is your practice and all, but I thought what with everything and all…" And then as if suddenly realizing that she was becoming a verbal train wreck, Emma mumbled quietly to herself, "I really shouldn't have had that last cup of coffee this morning."

"We weren't planning on it," Lucy smiled kindly. "But Hermione's… Fleur is in town for the funeral. And she had never seen… our practice. She and Hermione are heading back this afternoon and we thought we'd give her a tour before she left."

"On your way to the train, are you? It's so convenient how close we are to the train station, innit? It makes my commute loads easier. Bish bash bosh and I'm here. I'm Emma, by the way," the girl nearly knocked over one of her empty coffee cups over as she extended her hand out to Fleur. "The dental receptionist here."

Fleur stepped forward to take Emma's hand with her own. "Fleur. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I didn't know the Grangers had family in France." She smiled amiably, still not quite letting go of Fleur's hand. "You are French, right? I mean, the accent…"

"If the Grangers have French relatives, I am unaware of this fact," Fleur smiled softly, trying and failing at regaining her hand. "However, yes, I am French."

Thomas coughed. "She is actually Hermione's girlfriend."

"A mate from school? How lovely," The innocent, friendliness of the redhead was endearing, if not a bit painful in that moment. But all Fleur could truly focus on was how the other woman had yet to let go of her hand.

"She's not that kind of friend," Hermione corrected, taking an instinctual step towards her lover and placing a hand on her shoulder, her eyes locked on the handshake that had yet to stop.

"Not from school. From where then?" Emma's eyes flickered in between Fleur's face, Hermione's hand on Fleur's shoulder, Hermione's glare at the overly long handshake. Emma instantly released Fleur's hand. "Oh. Oh! Your  _girl_ friend. Of course. Yes. Well, isn't that quite lovely. Lovely dovely even." The younger woman grasped her coffee cup behind her, and took a long drink as if she could not think of any other response. "I have a cousin, maybe, on my father's side. Or was it an aunt who is…"

All of a sudden there was a strange buzzing noise causing Fleur to jump.

"Hold on, I have to get this," Emma picked up the phone and, in between pauses, informed the voice on the other end that they were quite happy with their current telephone service thank you. When she hung up the phone, she did it with some reluctance however.

"Well, Emma, I really appreciate you coming in and holding down the fort for us while we are away. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact us. We are going to continue showing Fleur around the practice now," Thomas smiled at Emma and no one could miss the relief that washed over the young woman's face.

Behind a wooden door next to the reception desk, the rest of the practice was revealed to be a small hallway with several smaller rooms jutting off. Fleur was led inside to one of the rooms towards the end of the passageway. The room's focus appeared to be a large chair that more than vaguely resembled a torture device. There was equipment on the shelves; machines jutted out from the walls at strange angles with hinges to apparently alter the position and placement in sinister ways. As Fleur looked around the modern torture chamber she wondered (worried) greatly about muggle health and medicine. Different cultures and different medical doctrines, understood. But this room seemed simply inhumane on some level. There appeared to be a major gap between what Thomas was saying in the car and the room Fleur now found herself in.

"She is a sweet girl, really, just out of college," Thomas shook her head. "I think this is her first 'real' job if you will. She's just a bit enthusiastic and energetic."

"Over caffeinated, you mean, and a bit of a spazz," Lucy shook her head, smiling fondly. "But she does mean well. I worry about what all that coffee is going to do to her teeth. Good thing she works at a dental practice I suppose."

Fleur smiled softly. "She seems lovely."

"Our clients seem to like her," Thomas nodded. "A lot more than our last one, at least. She was just absolute rubbish. Emma is definitely a bit more personable to say the least, though perhaps not as fanatically organized."

There was a pause in the conversation before it shifted to an explanation of the different equipment and objects in the room. Fleur listened intently, nodded and made a few polite comments here and there. However most of what they said simply could not stick in her brain for more than thirty seconds. Half the time she was distracted by trying to guess how exactly unpleasant each object was used on an assumed scale of one to ten. It simply made no sense why people would willingly let such devices enter their mouths, let alone pay for the experience. Perhaps it was because Hermione's parents had warm and trusting faces.

"If you want, we could give you a cleaning," Lucy smiled. "Free of charge, of course. I promise you it is not as scary or as painful as it looks."

And this is when Fleur thought that perhaps, after all, the woman had it out for her. However Fleur smiled tentatively, trying to politely find a way to maneuver out of the kind offer. "I am not entirely sure we have time. I mean…" Her eyes flickered to Hermione, hoping her lover would devise a way to save her. "I do not wish to be a bother."

"Mom, really. We both have to be heading back to Hogwarts shortly," Hermione shot her mother a look of 'please don't.' "Maybe next time, when we're a bit less rushed…"

"Oh posh, we have a time, it'd only a quick cleaning. Trust me," Lucy smiled, directing her attention away from her daughter and towards Fleur. "Your teeth will have never felt better."

But Fleur had seen, and in fact was still looking at some of the devices and contraptions that would seem to indicate otherwise. However, being a Delacour and knowing full well that there was no real way to escape this fate with dignity in tact, Fleur nodded her reluctant consent. "I would love a quick cleaning if you believe that we truly have time." Emphasis on quick, make no mistake.

The chair, Fleur discovered, was not as uncomfortable as she had imagined. A bib was fastened around her neck to protect her clothes – from what though Fleur could not bring herself to ask. She prayed it wasn't blood. And then they lowered the chair down before turning on and directing a bright light directly at her face. From there she was instructed to open her mouth wide and that was when the poking and scraping began.

The thin gloves Lucy had put on smelled strangely of sterile mint. The older woman leaned in so close that Fleur could smell the woman's breath and she was certain that the older woman could smell hers as well. Fleur tried to subtly grip the arm rests as the hooked instrument moved across her teeth, often time sliding up against and pressing on her gums. As Lucy worked, she gave Fleur a running commentary of what she was doing—such and such was to check for oral cancer, to test gum health, this was to remove plaque-whatever that was. Fleur kept her eyes closed for the most part, not because of the light shining right in her eyes, but to better distance herself from the situation. She tried to distract herself from the torture, but all she could think of was Hermione, which did not seem appropriate with her future mother-in-law's fingers in her mouth. Fleur feared that past trespasses, evidence of their daughter's embraces lingered amongst her molars in a subtle language Lucy read fluently. 

Hermione, who had been sitting beside her, silently took Fleur's hand within her own and squeezed lightly. Comfortingly. Stroking Fleur's hand gently with her thumb calming Fleur's stoic, dignified freak out.

Finally when Fleur felt as if she had worked up a resistance to the scraping, it ceased. Lucy withdrew her hand and placed the instrument back on the small tray on the table with a quiet finality. Hopeful for a moment that it was over, Fleur started to shift as if to sit up. But then Lucy informed her that they were now going to brush her teeth. Fleur had seen Hermione brush her teeth the Muggle way many times before. But what Hermione did was very different from the whirling, buzzing, vibrating contraption that pressed against her teeth, covering them in a film of disgusting mint grit. And even though she was allowed to rinse, the grit persistently lingered. 

Only after a piece of strange string was shoved in between each and every one of her teeth was the torture declared complete. Lucy remarked with wonderment at how clean and well taken care of Fleur's teeth were, marveling at how Fleur almost did not even need the cleaning. Fleur smiled politely and thanked Lucy, while silently marveling at how unnatural, how unpleasant (how barbaric really) the Muggle dentist felt. Fleur thanked them both and commented on how wonderful her teeth felt. And she was sure that the moment her mouth recovered from the pain and shock that they really would feel wonderful. She also prayed this would not become a tradition to be upheld every time she visited.

* * *

Fleur had no idea if her girlfriend's parents liked, let alone approved of her or not, but she at least had comfort in that the situation between them had improved greatly from their first encounter. It gave her reason to hope that when saying goodbye, Thomas reached out and initiated a handshake. Having spent the last couple days witnessing the man making fists and gripping objects firmly, Fleur was not surprised at his strong grip. However, she was slightly surprised by how tender it was despite his strength. Lucy initiated a(n awkward) hug. Perhaps in these small gestures mountains had not been moved, but to Fleur it felt like it had.

However, despite this progres, she felt relief, a quiet release the minute she arrived at her doorstep and Goldie took her cloak. Tossing her bag carelessly by the staircase, Fleur collapsed on the parlor couch. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she felt her body sink into the soft, familiar cushions. It felt like it had been weeks since she was last home. Silently Hermione, now entirely comfortable in the older woman's home, disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two tall glasses of cold water knowing that whenever exhausted or stressed, Fleur often felt thirsty.

"Thank you, my love," Fleur accepted the water with a smile and a small kiss on her lover's lips.

The two were quiet, their bodies instinctively enmeshing into each other as they sipped at the water, wordlessly trying to process the last couple of days.

"How are you?" Fleur tilted her head towards her lover, hoping Hermione sensed that she meant this question on all levels.

"I'm fine. But how are you feeling?" Hermione shifted the questioning back to her lover.

"I doubt that I will be returning to classes before Monday," Fleur stated plainly after a long time had passed in silence. As she spoke, she placed her mostly empty glass on the table and it added a strange finality to her statement that she had not intended.

"It's probably for the best. You look so exhausted." Hermione carefully regarded her lover.

Fleur leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. "I am exhausted, true. However I am also woefully behind in grading as you are proving to be quite a beautiful distraction." She tossed Hermione an affectionate glance. "This will hopefully give me some time to catch up. Also us returning on different days, it will perhaps help persuade some of the rumors that we did not disappear off on some romantic getaway I imagine."

Whatever facial expression Hermione made, Fleur missed it as her eyes were still on the ceiling. "Fleur, is everything okay with you? You seem a bit… far away right now."

Fleur rolled her head to examine Hermione. She reached her hand up and outlined the traces of her lover's face. It was true, she did feel a bit off. She had only taken a half dose of the Nun's Potion with a double dose of her normal potion. Still she felt exhausted from the stress of the past couple days. Distant. Perhaps she just needed to sleep. "I am fine, perhaps a little more tired than usual from the travel and the past few days I suppose, that is all." Pause. "And perhaps a little worried. About your parents."

"Fleur, they like you in their own way. They wouldn't show their dental practice to just anybody. And my mother gave you a cleaning. That is something usually their assistants do. Dentists usually come in after," Hermione pulled Fleur closer into her body and enwrapped her arms around her lover. "They just have a odd, quiet way of showing affection is all. And it's a little awkward. You're the only one I've ever brought home before. Only one I will bring home. They're just figuring it all out, we all are."

Fleur silently reveled in the soft, warm comfort of her lover's arms. "I hope so."

For a while, they lay like that, Fleur fighting off sleep and, at times, losing for short moments of time. At one point she woke to find the first signs of night's arrival at the window.

"You should head back to the castle, at least for a few hours tonight," Fleur pulled herself up into a stronger sitting position. "You have a life that I am keeping you from."

"Fleur, you are my life." Hermione found Fleur's eyes, making sure the older woman understood. "Or at least, a large part of it. As for the rest, I'm in no hurry. I rather enjoy watching you sleep. It keeps me calm, watching you," Hermione shrugged. "I've missed you sleeping in my arms these past couple days."

"Well, we have tonight, but for now I should not keep you from your friends or your schoolwork," Fleur stood up slowly. Her body felt cold immediately in the places that, only moments before, had been warmed by her lover's body.

Reluctantly they moved towards the door. Lingering the entryway, Hermione's finger traced delicately down Fleur's stomach, hooking her thumb into the top of Fleur's skirt. "I know you have work to do, but it can wait until tomorrow. Take care of yourself, ok? And I won't mind if you're already asleep when I come over," Hermione looked up and cupped Fleur's face with her other hand. "I'll be back tonight to help you sleep."

"Well if you are merely coming over to help me sleep, do not feel obligated," Fleur felt the words slip out of her mouth and the hurt registered almost immediately on Hermione's face. She pulled her hand away slightly from Fleur's face. "I am sorry. I am exhausted. I did not mean… I apologize. Truly. I am just fatigued and a bit grumpy. It is just exhausting in itself being sick and feeling as if I am burden. Never mind."

"Fleur how many times do I have to tell you that I love you?" Hermione's face regarded the older woman carefully. "If you want time alone tonight, just tell me. I don't know what is going on in your head right now, but something is and I'd wish you tell me about it. You know that I would love to come over tonight and see you. I miss falling asleep next to you and waking up to your morning breath."

"Morning breath?" Fleur arched an eyebrow.

"The sooner you admit that you have morning breath…"

"Maybe I just like to hear you say it." Fleur switched gears suddenly, her eyes averted to the floor.

"Say what, that you have morning breath?"

"That you love me."

"Oh, Fleur. I love you even if you are a bit thick," Hermione shook her head before capturing her lover's lips.

It seemed as if Hermione was trying desperately, tenderly to show, to prove her love through the kiss. Pushing Fleur against the wall, Fleur had to admit that it did. Or rather, should have. Fleur barely felt it. Hermione's passion, no matter how loud and clear, felt only like a distant whisper, slipping past her fingertips no matter how desperately she wanted to cling to it. Hermione slid her thigh up in between Fleur's legs. And even though Fleur gasped and braced herself up against the wall, she felt a hundred miles away and struggled to return the physicality in kind. And it frustrated her. Couldn't she at least be present for this? Reluctantly, Fleur ended the embrace, unable to handle the distance in the proximity.

"At this rate, I doubt you will ever get to the castle," she offered lamely as an excuse, catching her breath and resting her forehead against her lover. But all she really wanted was physical distance.

"I don't mind." A pause, a playful smirk but behind it concern, a need to prove. "You're tired, let me take you to bed."

"Somehow I have the distinct feeling that if that were to happen, I would never let you leave and you would never let me sleep," Fleur grinned playfully, tracing the curve of Hermione's breast before pulling her finger away. "Let me be the gentlemen this evening as I have already walked you to the door." What worried Fleur most about the Nun's Potion was not how it physically drained her, but how the distance it created physically was starting to affect her emotionally as well.

* * *

After Hermione left, instead of going to bed Fleur sat by the fire pouring through all the books she had on veelas, trying to find any and all mentions on the Nun's Potion. Was there any way to fix the potion that would allow her touch Hermione while also reigning in the passion enough that she wouldn't push Hermione too far, too fast? Was there any solution?

The passion, the hunger, even restrained, paced back and forth within her threatening to find a way to break out. Fleur feared for what would happen if (when) it was unleashed. She needed to remain a perfect gentleman until Hermione was truly ready. After all there could be no seed of doubt on either side.

But her memory flashed to the sensation of Hermione's knee in between her legs. Maybe Hermione was ready?

Physically maybe. But emotionally?

(And was she herself ready?)

However, in all her books, she couldn't even find a brief mention in passing. Realizing the fruitlessness of her research, Fleur groaned in frustration and threw a book against the wall, the spine breaking on impact. She stared at the fire, half lost in thought, half allowing herself to be mesmerized by the flames. For a second, she did not notice the knocking at the door. Confused, she stood up. It was a bit too early to be expecting Hermione again, but who else would it be? With a flick of her wand, the books flew back into the kitchen cupboard. Walking to the door, Fleur realized that in the commotion of the Grangers arriving, Hermione had left the portkey in her room. Her girlfriend, now having to come visit the old fashioned way, probably left earlier so as to not arouse suspicion. (Or because she was worried at how strange Fleur was acting.) 

"Parvati," Fleur spoke more as a surprised observation than a greeting when she opened the door. She drew her dressing gown a little tighter around her chest, partly to shield herself from the night air and partly to cover up a just a bit more of her body, to become a bit more presentable to her student (her friend). Her eyes ran quickly over the younger girl. Visibly upset, the Gryffindor seemed as if she was holding back tears as she shivered in the doorway.

"Come inside," Fleur ushered her in, placing her hand comforting on the girl's shoulder to guide her in past the entryway. "I was just about to make some tea."


	34. Uncertain

Fleur slipped her hand off Parvati's shoulder the minute the younger girl stepped inside and led her into the parlor. Parvati sunk down on the couch with heavy resignation, looking wordlessly up at Fleur as if expecting, as if hoping for wisdom in regards to her current, unknown plight. But the French woman had none to offer.

"Do you have any preferences on tea?" Was all Fleur could come up with to say. But Parvati only shook her head in response. "Then we shall see what I can do. Please make yourself comfortable. I will return shortly."

In the kitchen, Fleur generally preferred using the old fashioned Muggle way to the Wizarding short cuts. Even when it came to tea, it somehow just seemed to taste better when she took the extra time to boil the water instead of waving her wand. It was nothing new to Fleur, waiting and taking extra time with the faith, the hope of a better, improved outcome. That in mind, however, in times like this Fleur was thankful for the Wizarding short cuts.

Deciding that lemon ginger was the most soothing and comforting tea in her limited tea selection, Fleur boiled the water in a matter of seconds with a flick of her wand. The tea started steep as she quickly arranged several biscuits on a tray, mindful of Parvati's notorious sweet tooth.

When she returned, bearing the (shockingly heavy) tray laden with the pot of tea, two teacups, sugar, and biscuits, she discovered Parvati much in the same position. The girl stared vacantly at the fire, tears poised in the corners of her eyes seemingly only waiting for gravity, and hands curled more for comfort than in fists. Suddenly afraid of startling the younger girl, Fleur was mindful to lay the tray down on the table quietly and made no sudden movements as she poured two cups of tea.

"Thank you, by the way," Fleur smiled softly as she handed a steaming cup to the younger girl. Parvati looked up accepting the tea, seemingly confused either by the offering or Fleur's words. Perhaps both. "For what you said, about seeing me faint as a cover for attending Hermione's grandmother's funeral. I honestly... it means a great deal to me. Both to Hermione and myself. So thank you."

"Oh, of course. Anything to help you and Hermione out," Parvati looked down at her cup of tea though her eyes seemed to go past it. "I know how hard it is to…" She tried to force out a smile, but it was a bit shaky coming out. "It's not always the easiest thing to be, is it, being gay?"

"No, it is not. However I do find it to be beautiful, to love a woman, yes? To be a woman who loves a woman." Fleur took a seat on the couch next to Parvati. It seemed odd to sit in her normal chair so far away from the other girl. The blonde crossed her legs and leaned back, careful not to be absorbed into the comfortable couch. No good would come of her falling asleep now. "It is not that I do not love surprise visits, and you are more than welcome to come over any time you please, however is everything... that is, are you alright?"

"I'm sorry for just showing up like this. I sort of… I was just walking around and I ended up here. I don't know. I can leave if you want, it's late and you look tired. More than anything you need to get your rest. I don't want to…" Parvati made a motion to stand up, but Fleur reached out a hand to stop her.

"It is fine, truly. I rarely have visitors in England and honestly I miss the company. And this is what friends do, yes? It pleases me that my friends visit me, even when they are upset." Fleur smiled, realizing for the first time that she truly did think of Parvati as a friend. "So please, tell me: is there anything I can do to help? I am in possession of two wonderful ears that I would be more than pleased to lend you."

Parvati continued to stare into the shallow depths of her tea. Fleur leaned further back in the sofa, not wishing to pressure the younger girl. If she wanted to speak, she would. Fleur blew on the top of her tea before tentatively taking a sip as she quietly observed Parvati. She tried not to burn her tongue, but only to limited success. Parvati, in turn, mirrored Fleur's actions. In the back of her mind, Fleur realized that this was the first time she had even seen the Gryffindor take her tea without a mountain of sugar or any added sugar at all.

"How was meeting Hermione's parents?" Parvati looked up after a while.

Fleur let out a large exhale and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh Merlin. I am not sure how one would classify it, our first meeting, but it was altogether unannounced, unexpected, and entirely disastrous. When they failed to locate Hermione in the dormitory… I think everyone caught each other by surprise." Fleur shook her head. "It was certainly not the first impression that I had hoped for. And her parents, they were already so strained…" She ran her tongue self-consciously over her smooth, newly polished teeth. "However I would like to believe that matters have improved somewhat since such a wretched first meeting. Hermione assures me that they do not hate me and maybe in time… it always takes time for Grangers to warm up to me, hm?"

Parvati forced a smile, meant to be reassuring. "You seem to have luck with winning Grangers over eventually, despite their stubborn natures."

"Though one might argue that Hermione does not fully set a trend or pattern for all Grangers." Fleur added thoughtfully as she took another sip of her tea, noting that she probably should have let it steep longer. "Parvati, may I ask one more time what's wrong? I have never not seen you dive into the biscuits. I have to admit I am a bit worried."

"Do you and Hermione ever talk about the future?" Parvati fended off the personal question yet again. The Gryffindor girl looked so small that Fleur decided against pressing her any further for the moment. Instead she regarded the girl, carefully considering her response before answering.

"In a way. Unfortunately, we mostly end up focusing on the courtship ritual. It is terribly selfish of me to let my condition monopolize such an important, multifaceted conversation. I know that Hermione is starting to receive job offers…" The future after Hogwarts was something Fleur was afraid to bring up, nervous of how she would fit in. But her girlfriend's graduation was only getting closer. "My position here is only contracted for this school year and as of now, I have no intention of renewing it, which would leave me free to…" To what? Follow Hermione blindly to the ends of the earth? (Yes.) "It is probably something Hermione and I should discuss more, I admit."

"It's a hard conversation to have," Parvati continued to stare into her cup, a tear dropped into the steaming liquid.

"This is what this is about, is it not, what is happening after graduation with you and Lavender?"

"That's the issue, isn't it? I've known since I was a kid what I was going to do. It's not like I don't have a choice in the matter. If I said I didn't want to take over the family business with Padma, my family would be disappointed. In the end, though, they'd be fine with it I think. But I want to, I always have. I grew up with it; it's in my blood. I love it. And Lavender knows this."

"If you do not mind my asking, what is your family business?" Fleur reached for one of the biscuits. If Parvati was not going to eat them it did not mean that she should let them go to waste.

"The Patil Apothecary," Parvati also reached for a biscuit, once again following Fleur's lead. However she showed no actual intention of eating it, merely holding it along with her mostly untouched cup of tea. When she mentioned the name of the shop, Fleur nearly spilled her tea in surprise. "When my parents immigrated here, my father opened up the second shop in Diagon Alley while my uncle still runs the original."

"I cannot believe I never made the connection between your last name and that shop before. Your family's is an extremely well respected shop, as I am quite sure you are aware. My parents have been customers for years, they order from you all the time by owl. They claim it is better than any of the ones in France."

"It is a point of family pride. All the potions and the magical objects, we make ourselves. They're all family recipes, secrets passed down the generations." A smile cracked on Parvati's features for a moment. "I am mostly going to handle the front of shop, the inventory and the books with my Mum. Padma is to handle most of the potions and such. I want to try to expand our inventory though, introduce a few more divination items perhaps. Keep my interests alive in that way. And there's talk of expanding with more shops."

Fleur politely ate her biscuit as she listened. She had recently started purchasing them for Hermione's friends when they came to visit but until now had never actually eaten one herself. However, she would have to remedy that as she was discovering they really were quite delicious. "That sounds wonderful, Parvati. It must feel comforting in a way to have it all figured out already. What does Lavender think about this?"

"Lavender…" Parvati's lip trembled, her voice quivered threatening to betray her. "We got into a fight. We've been getting into a lot of fights lately actually. I don't think she's going to come to London with me. I thought she might. She made it sound like she would or maybe I just…. I hoped or assumed she would. I don't know. It was silly really. She has the whole world, why would she settle with just London?"

Fleur was silent, unsure of what to say, of what physical gesture to make. Tentatively she reached a hand out and (hopefully) comfortingly placed it on her friend's shoulder.

"She keeps wavering about what she's going to do, you know? She always says that she's thinking about it but that she needs more time. And she gets annoyed with me whenever I bring it up or when she think that I am hinting. But we're graduating soon, what else am I supposed to do?" As Parvati spoke, Fleur averted her eyes. She was no stranger to Lavender's rational of avoidance. "And now she says she might want to travel for a while, see the world, continue to study Divinations. But after seeing the world, why would she want me? What if she meets someone else while she travels? I'm just going to be plain old Parvati running her family's shop and she's going to be this world traveler who has seen all these exciting places and know all these new, exciting people. Prettier people even, people who are easier to be with." The teacup in Parvati's hands trembled; it's contents threatening to spill over on the girl's lap. Carefully, tenderly Fleur took the cup from the girl's hand and placed it on the coffee table in what she hoped was a non-patronizing gesture. As Fleur did this, Parvati looked at Fleur, searching in the older woman's eyes for some truth. Her voice softer, more desperate. "What if her traveling is just an excuse to break up with me, an easy out? And when she returns from all her adventures we can just… we can just…" Parvati seemed to be choking on her words, tears slowly streaming down her face. Resignation on her tongue. "I don't know if I can just be friends with her, Fleur. I just don't. I love her so much. It's not fair."

"Love is never fair," Fleur nearly whispered. "And the one we love can be the cruelest because we let them, we give them the power." Her thoughts strayed to Hermione earlier that evening, the closeness of their bodies. Not knowing the torture it was causing in Fleur, the measures Fleur was taking… but how could she know when Fleur wouldn't tell her, wouldn't let her in? So in the end, who was more cruel? Fleur knew it to be herself. 

 "But you and Hermione, you have this epic, this pure love." Parvati looked up protesting, picking up the strain and sadness lacing Fleur's words.

Fleur smiled distantly. "The future for us is the same as it is for every couple, uncertain. We have yet to complete the courtship ritual and we have talked of the future far less than you and Lavender have. Hermione has had job offers and I imagine I will probably join my mother in her line of work… eventually, perhaps. But I have not given it much thought, I am afraid. It is not as if I need the money and honestly, I have had other priorities." Fleur shook her head. For the past three years, her future had been Hermione. Nothing else had mattered because without Hermione there was no future. But now that she had Hermione, what next? What else? "Have you spoken to Lavender about your concerns?"

"She thinks I'm being silly, that I need to trust her more," Parvati sniffed, wiping her eyes and trying to re-establish control over her emotions. "But how I am being silly? Last year she was dating Ron. I know it was ruse. I was even the one who came up with the pet name for him, Won Won. It was supposed to be a joke. But it wasn't funny." The pain in Parvarti's voice mirrored in her eyes clearly illustrated just how not funny she saw it. "It'd be easier for her if she dated a boy. It's not like either of our families are overly enthused about our relationship, they tolerate it, of course. They're learning to accept it even, but…"

"She went back to you, remember that," Fleur tried to be reassuring, not sure if she was saying the right thing or not. "Do you trust her?"

"Here, in the safety of Hogwarts. But what about the real world? I'm just a girl. How can I compete with the possibilities of the entire world?"

Fleur crossed her legs and leaned back. She did not know what to say that would help or reassure the girl. "It shouldn't be a competition. What do you want?"

"I want her. But I don't know… I don't know if I want to keep hurting like this all the time."

* * *

The tea had long ago become cold and forgotten. At least the biscuits, with some help from Fleur, had been almost completely polished off by Parvati. By the time there was a familiar knock on the door, the conversation had drifted to somewhat happier topics. There were still moments of silence and awkwardness; Fleur and Parvati had never spent such an extended period of time alone together before. Fleur was becoming increasingly exhausted but she sensed that Parvati was not ready to leave and could not find it in her to say goodnight to the younger girl.

"Excuse me," Fleur stood up, wiping off a few crumbs that had fallen on her skirt. "I believe that is Hermione. She left the portkey upstairs."

Opening the door, Fleur found a worn looking Hermione, her heavy school bag slumped over her shoulder. Even before entering the room, Hermione encapsulated Fleur in her arms and kissed her, the brunette's need slipping past her lips, toppling into Fleur's confused and frustrated mouth. "You're a sight for tired eyes."

"You look exhausted," Fleur commented, pulling away, pushing a strand of loose hair affectionately behind Hermione's ear.

"I'm sure I look perky in comparison to you. Why aren't you in bed?" Hermione tilted her head to the side. "I mean, I'm grateful because I was not looking forward to breaking in. I imagine as a Defense Against the Dark Arts expert you know a fair amount of protections spells and barriers."

"They are my specialty, in fact." Fleur nodded matter of factly. "Though whether that derives from my field of interest or growing up in a family full of paranoid veelas, I shall leave it up to you decide."

"Either way, I thought you were going to be sleeping. I'm supposed to wake you up and tell you a good night story, remember?"

"Was that the plan?" Fleur smiled softly. From a distance, she could feel her love for the girl safely. Up close, the physicality of their love confused and frustrated her.

"It is the one I came up with on my way over here, yes. Were you not informed?"

"Well it will have to be reworked slightly. Parvati is in the parlor. She and Lavender—"

"Got in a massive fight," Hermione finished her girlfriend's sentence. "As I was walking up to their room to say hello, Parvati was fleeing down the stairwell in tears. I spent the last few hours trying to comfort Lavender and didn't get any work done."

"Oh mon coeur," Fleur traced the contour's of the brunette's face.

"Would you mind terribly if I kept the light on in bed and try to catch up?" Hermione looked guilty. "If you need to sleep, I can also work downstairs."

"I think we have proven I can sleep through your furious quill scratching," Fleur teased.

"Furious quill scratching?" Hermione arched up her eyebrow playfully.

"You write with determination and passion, it's one of your cuter traits that I love about you. Come, I do not wish to leave poor Parvati unattended." Fleur led Hermione into the parlor before the girl had time to defend herself.

Parvati nearly collapsed on Hermione as she gave her a hug. Hermione held her classmate comfortingly, rubbing circles in her back as she whispered, "she still loves you" to whatever Parvati mumbled through her tears. After awhile they separated and began discussing the fight with each other, Hermione tactful of Lavender's confidences as she spoke.

Fleur left the room to tidy up from the evening tea to give the girls time to catch up. Once finished to the state she could accomplish that evening, she returned to lean up against the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt. I am afraid that I am unable to stay awake much longer and must retire. Parvati you are more than welcome to stay as long as you like. If you wish, please feel free to sleep here in one of the spare bedrooms. You can portkey back to the castle in the morning with Hermione and Hermione can set you up with the extra blankets and pillows for tonight. You know where those are, right?"

Hermione nodded. "In the upstairs hall closet next to the bathroom."

"Thank you but no… I should be getting back," Parvati shook her head after a moment's thought. "Maybe another time, but I…" She exhaled slowly. "I don't know, I just think I should get back."

"I understand entirely. If you ever need a place to sleep for the night, I do hope you keep me in mind however." Fleur hugged Parvati goodnight before turning to Hermione and kissing her softly on the lips. Even hugging Parvati created the strange, frustrating sensation across Fleur's skin. It seemed as if her body was now starting to shut off from all physical contact.

"I'll keep the light on for you. Stay up as long as you need." While she would never, could never admit it out loud, Fleur was almost thankful for the opportunity to fall asleep alone that night.

* * *

Hermione spent the rest of the week frantically trying to catch up with her classes while maintaining her NEWT study schedule and her Head Girl duties. This kept the Gryffindor girl very busy and left Fleur plenty of time to rest, catch up on her own class preparation and grading. Plenty of time to work on her dilemma with the Nun's Potion, but equally plenty of opportunity and excuses to avoid her lover's touch. All the while the conversation with Parvati kept running through her mind. She was unable to shake the thoughts about the future that she and Hermione may (or may not) have together. She would like to think that she would figure out the Nun's Potion, that they would complete the courtship ritual. That they would start their lives together. That they would be happy and in love for the rest of their lives. She would like to think, to fantasize, but even that this point she was afraid to assume.

Sunday night Hermione reclined on Fleur's (their) bed finishing up on the next day's Potions reading while Fleur reorganized her closet. She was running out of ways to avoid her lover's touch. Fleur knew that Hermione was becoming well aware of the distance she was creating. It was silly to believe that Hermione would not. But neither one had yet to bring it up. Maybe it was because Hermione was truly that busy and Fleur was truly that exhausted. Maybe because they were both afraid of what would happen if their concerns were said outloud.

As the night wore on, Fleur could no longer withstand the weight of all the conversations they were not having. She sat down on a chair with a large sigh, placing the dress she had intended on hanging up across her lap.

"Fleur, is everything alright?" Hermione looked up from her book, a rather thick text summarizing the last one hundred years of advancement in healing potions.

"What is going to happen to us when you graduate?" Fleur looked straight at the girl, trying to hide all the unwanted emotions in her voice, the desperate curiosity, the overwhelming exhaustion, the anxious edge she felt rising up her vocal chords.

"I had imagined that we would be together," Hermione closed the book quietly and sat up. "Were you thinking something else? Something that I should know about?"

"No, of course not," Fleur leaned up against the wall for support. She was taking less and less of the Nun's Potion, barely more than a few diluted drops, but she could not seem to shake the extra exhaustion, the curtain it was drawing itself between her and the rest of the world. "I suppose I simply wish to discuss the specifics of how and where. I feel almost pathetic to admit that I have no concrete plans besides being in madly love with you come graduation. Or rather, whenever we talk about the future, it is always about the courtship ritual, about my body, my needs. However I do not wish it to be like that."

Hermione nodded gravely. "I have been applying to jobs and I've received several job offers. I guess I should have said it earlier, but you always seemed a bit… distant when I started to mention it earlier."

Fleur kicked her foot in the air self-consciously, examining her shoe shyly. "I suppose it was me being nervous about where I would fit in your life, if I would fit in at all."

"Maybe if you stopped being so ridiculous you'd realize that your place is set in stone as far as I'm concerned," Hermione shook her head, her tone bristled with a tired annoyance. "Really, Fleur. I love you. We're sealed. Is there really anything else that is left up to discussion?"

Fleur shook her head no, looking down, ashamed of her own insecurities. "I am being silly again, aren't I?"

"Glad that this is sorted. Again." Hermione exhaled, she sat up a little straighter and shifted her tactics slightly. "I am happy you brought it up though. I just received a job offer by owl. I think I am going to accept it but I wanted to talk to you about it first." Hermione looked straight at Fleur as she spoke, but her fingers gave way to nervousness as she played with the comforter.

"That is wonderful news. What is it?" Fleur tried to stay as upbeat and supportive as possible but her stomach clenched at the thought of what this job might be.

"I didn't think I was going to get it when I applied, which is why I didn't tell anyone," Hermione began. "But it's actually a really wonderful opportunity."

"Hermione," Fleur leaned forward, her eyes both affectionate and nervous as she examined her lover. "I trust your judgment. So please, tell me before you start making me nervous. What is the job?"

"It is at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It's just an entry level position of course but there is room for growth and it could be really good. I mean Merlin knows that I haven't always agreed with the Ministry's decisions or actions but this way maybe I could help to change that. It would give me the opportunity to help fix the house elf legislation at least."

Fleur stood up as Hermione spoke and braved the distance between herself and her lover placing a finger silently on her lover's lips. The warmth, the love, the support she wanted to give Hermione on the tip of her tongue overflowing with her words. "That is absolutely wonderful and amazing. Congratulations. I cannot see any reason why you should not accept that position. I am so proud of you."

"What about you? You hate England. If I accepted this position then…"

"Then I will have to start making more English friends, hm? Really, Hermione, I do not hate this country nearly as much as I put on. Besides, Philippe lives in London now. And my strength will return at some point, so I will be able to apparate and visit my family more easily. Alternately, we could live in France and you could apparate to work. Really, that is something we can figure out." Fleur shook her head. "I am no reason to turn down a job offer, especially one that seems so perfect." She cupped Hermione's face in her hand. "I love you too much to stand in the way. I would much prefer to walk alongside you."

"Okay." The adorable look of determination on Hermione's face was enough assurance that she would not turn down the position for Fleur. "What will you do?"

Her fingers slipped off Hermione's face as Fleur flopped down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. "I suppose I will resume my post at the Ministry. Though probably in a slightly different capacity as I doubt I will be re-assigned to Gringotts which, frankly, is a bit of a relief. I suppose there really isn't any rush for me to figure out my next move so to speak." Fleur reached up as if intending on touching the ceiling with her fingertips. "However I do hate sitting idle. I am not worried, though, not with Hermione pursuing her passions by my side." Reaching out she took Hermione's hands in her. These small physically encounters were all she could stand. She prayed it wouldn't go farther, it wouldn't go deeper than this.

Hermione traced the edges of Fleur's face. "What is your passion, Fleur?"

"You." Fleur looked directly at the younger girl and spoke without a moment's hesitation.

Hermione blushed, looking off to the side. "You're sweet. But really, besides me, what do you want to do with your life after Hogwarts?"

Fleur's eyes returned to the ceiling. "I guess I shall have some time to figure it out."

"Sometimes I…" Hermione started and then stopped. Her eyes quietly examining Fleur for a second before looking off toward the corner of the room.

"Sometimes you what, Hermione?" Fleur watched the other girl closely. There was something about the girl's words, her tone that made Fleur nervous, make her almost choke on her words.

"Sometimes I wonder if I am, I guess." Hermione shrugged, her eyes returning to Fleur, quietly demanding, pleading. "Your passion, I mean. Lately I just don't know what's going on with you. You tell me you love me but I can tell you're avoiding me and you're distant. Ever since… at home, you said it was because of my parents. But you're even worse now. It's like… Fleur do you even want to touch me? Or me to touch you?"

Fleur sat up, ignoring the head rush to look her lover, her girlfriend straight in the eyes. Words failed her. "Hermione, I…"

"Well, do you?"

"Of course I do. You know that I do."

"I don't know if I do, Fleur. You'd be a bit more convincing if you were actually touching me while you said that," Hermione's voice was slowly building up that defensive edge. "It's just… I keep trying to get close to you, to open up to you. And I thought after my parents… I don't know. All this weekend I just can't help but thinking that… I can't shake the feeling that you don't…"

"Hermione, I love you," Fleur reached out and cupped the girl's cheek gently. "There is nothing I want more than to be with you."

"Don't touch me if you don't want to," Hermione shook her head away from her lover's touch. "And if you want to be with me so badly then start acting like it Fleur. I've just had this sinking feeling all week that after everything I'm becoming just a friend to you."

Fleur bit her lower lip, absorbing the full impact of Hermione's words, knowing she deserved every pained word, every confused and frustrated syllable. Without a moment's pause, she reached out, returning her hand on her lover's cheek. Despite Hermione's obvious annoyance and her own frustration at feeling that veil of distance, that unnatural feeling which accompanied any physical touch creeping throughout her body, Fleur forced her hand to remain still, laying softly against Hermione's skin. "I know. I apologize deeply. Profusely even. I suppose that I am just scared."

"Scared? Of what, of me? Am I truly that frightening?"

"No. Of me. I am frightened of me. I am afraid that I will rush you, that I will force or pressure you. When I touch you… I am afraid that I will not be able to stop and that you won't be ready. I simply cannot do that to you. I will not." Fleur looked away, withdrawing her hand slightly, but Hermione reached up and held Fleur's hand there against her cheek.

For a moment Hermione simply searched her lover's eyes, trying to find truth in Fleur's words. "How do you know that I'm not ready?"

And when Fleur replied, she was struck by the honesty of her own answer. "I am not even sure if I am."

* * *

On Monday morning both Fleur and Hermione struggled to get ready to greet the day. Fleur felt weak against her fatigue and stumbled haphazardly around the room with little focus. Hermione couldn't find her tie and then her sock. wShe had in her hand only moments before and suddenly was nowhere to be found. Then the portkey somehow got lost under a pile of books. As time passed by and Hermione carefully sifted through the mountain of textbooks, Fleur became anxious. She normally waited until after Hermione had left to take her potions, however she was losing the luxury of time to wait with each passing moment.

Hopeful that Hermione's sole focus was on her search, Fleur shifted her body away and uncorked both vials of potion. In one unsteady movement, the familiar tastes slid down her throat. By the time Hermione turned around, Fleur had successfully hidden the second vial of potion hidden quickly in a dresser drawer.

"I found it," Hermione stated, pointing proudly in the direction  _Hogwarts, A History_  but careful not to touch the portkey until it was time.

"Wonderful," Fleur forced a smile as she sat down on the bed, fully prepared for the after effects of momentary nausea and lightheadedness to take over. The chills were almost instantaneous now and she hoped she wasn't shivering too obviously. "I will see you after classes today, hm?"

"Fleur, are you…?"

"I am merely exhausted," Fleur cradled her head in her hands, closing her eyes. Despite only a few rather diluted drops left in the vial, the momentary side effects of the Nun's Potion already setting in. "I promise I am fine. Please, we will both be late."

But Hermione sat down next to her, placing her hand gently on the blonde's back. "Fleur… you're getting weaker."

Fleur silently shook her head. "I am not. It is just…"

"Fleur, I am not stupid."

"I never said you were," Fleur defended herself weakly.

"And you are a horrible actress. So why are you pretending that you're fine?" Hermione cupped Fleur's face in her hands, ensuring that the two woman would make eye contact. 

Fleur exhaled slowly admitting defeat silently with her body and offered up no protest. "Pride and vanity my least attractive qualities, I do admit."

"You need to let me in, Fleur or this isn't going to work," Hermione shook her head and stood up, kissing Fleur softly on the forehead. "I will see you after to class. I love you."

Before Fleur could reply, Hermione had crossed the room, picked up the portkey and was gone. Fleur leaned against the wall, the nausea starting to recede. She knew, then, that she would never take another dose, another drop of Nun's Potion again. The French woman even admitted that it had taken her too long to reach this decision. She had no idea how long until it would take for the medicinal poison to leave her system entirely or what sort of potentially permanent damage had been done. In that moment, those concerns did not bother her. She only knew she couldn't continue taking this potion without losing Hermione in the process.

What she didn't know was what would happen the minute the potion completely left her system. That was what truly frightened her.


	35. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexual situation, issues of consent, and violence.

Monday was fairly uneventful as Mondays go. Fleur returned to her classroom to find several bouquets, all in various stages of freshness and decay, along with several other anonymous (and not so anonymous) get well gifts. After checking them all for love potions (only two were laced, a third was questionable), she quickly relocated them into her office to join the other gifts that had been left outside the locked door. And then she was finally able to begin her day.

She had spent her time off, among other things, correcting essays, quizzes, and tests. Her lesson plans for the day consisted of returning work, going over major themes and corrections, and, if there was time, introducing the new (and final) material for the semester. It was scary to realize that classes were almost over and finals were upon them. Not her most exciting lesson plans, but an easy transition back into work and the day went fast enough.

All throughout the day, Hermione's warning that Fleur needed to let her in more seeped deeper under her skin became an open and growing source of irritation.  Logically and rationally, Fleur knew her girlfriend's words to be true and knew that she should by all means heed them. Fleur was aware of the growing consequences of her insecurities, of her hesitations and doubts. She was not stupid (but she was scared).

In many ways, the Nun's Potion was the physical manifestation, or at least the potent result, of these fears. As time passed, it left her system slowly and she could feel it dwindling in power and potency. It did not slip out gently into the night. By the end of the day, as she was preparing to dismiss the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor sixth years, Fleur could no longer ignore what was happening in her body. It seemed too much, too fast, but she had no other choice. There was no potion left--she had destroyed the remainder, along with a significant portion of its ingredients, before heading to the castle this morning. Fleur knew that if left to her own devices (desires), she might not be trusted. There was no contingency plan, no back ups, no safety.

During the day, Fleur had been able to distract herself with teaching. But now, with classes ending for the day, there would be little left to occupy her attention for the rest of the evening. So it was with great reluctance that she dismissed her students for the day with one less final announcement.

"While I try my best to make myself available immediately following class, today I am unfortunately not able to do so. I apologize for this, as I have been so long absent. In light of this, I will make myself available for open office hours directly after dinner until eight or so tomorrow." As Fleur spoke, she was aware of the frowns, the quiet and hushed groans of disappointment. She had deprived her enchanted fan club of yet another day with her. Which made the next thing she said even harder. "Having said that, however, Mademoiselle Lovegood, may I request your presence for a few minutes after class today? There is a matter I wish to discuss with you briefly."

There were more groans, some mumbles, some shy waves goodbyes with wishes for her to feel better soon (Fleur wondering if any had even a vague implications of these words--did they really know what would make her feel better?). Ginny caught Fleur's eye, a familiarity passed between then, and the red head smiled encouragingly.

Luna waited patiently behind in her chair, showing no surprise on her patented far off look. After the rest of the students had filed out, Fleur pulled up a nearby seat. She followed the Ravenclaw's eyes across the classroom, trying perhaps to see what the girl was looking at.

"Strange, there appear to be no nargles in your classroom. There used to be some earlier in the year, but I don't think they like veela charms," Luna observed.

"I…" Fleur started but lost steam before the second syllable, not sure how to respond and so finally choosing not to. She had always found the girl to be a bit unsettling, prone to make the strangest (but at times painfully spot on) comments and observations. She was also aware of what the other students called her—Looney Lovegood. Fleur always made a point of putting a stop to it every time she overheard it. Beyond her eccentricity, Fleur knew Luna to be actually rather intelligent and perceptive, more so than most gave her credit for. Which was why Luna's latest essay had been so frustrating to Fleur.

"Mademoiselle Lovegood, it is about your essay. You are a very intelligent girl, there is no doubt about it. However your weakness appears to lie in organization. You seem to quickly lose sight of your point mid-paragraph and wander off towards another though albeit equally interesting and important detail. Sometimes you miraculously manage to tie them all together paragraphs later, but if you intend on doing that you need to lay down a clearer road map for your readers. Without one, it makes your work scattered and hard to read. It poorly illustrates your intelligence and understanding of classroom material."

If Luna was paying attention, it was hard for Fleur to tell. She had more to say, but she felt herself losing steam under the girl's demeanor.

"Perhaps if you reread your essays before handing them in or have one of your friends go over them for you?" And as Fleur spoke, she wondered if Luna had any friends, or even anyone who would do this for her. The girl did not seem to collect friends. She knew Luna considered Hermione and her group to be friends, but Luna, as far as Fleur was aware, was never extended an invitation to her house on weekends. Perhaps she should speak to Hermione about this. Surely having the girl there would be no less awkward than having both Parvati and Ron in the same room at the same time. Perhaps her oddity might even serve to break up a few of the more tense moments. "It pains me to have to give you such a low mark when you clearly deserve so much better. Your comments in class, the points you make, I would truly wish to witness them through to their conclusions. If you ever need extra help, I am most certainly willing to help read over a draft."

Luna studied the essay in front of her for a few minutes before looking up at Fleur. "Everything gets in the way, doesn't it? Everything is so very complicated. The more we try to simplify things the more complex it all becomes. I wonder if we're not careful, we'll lose sight of what we're working for and turn it into rubbish. Suppressing oneself is dangerous, is it not?"

Fleur blinked, completely taken aback. "Pardon?"

Whatever Luna was going to say next was interrupted with the sound of the door shutting. "Excuse me, I didn't know you were meeting with someone." Hermione stood in the doorway. "Luna. Hello."

Luna smiled brightly. "Hermione." She stood up, grabbing her bag and swinging it over her shoulder. "It's funny, isn't it, how the prettiest appearances are often hiding the weakest constitutions. It's sad that there are so few veelas left. I wonder what it'd be like, dating an endangered species. I think it to be difficult."

Fleur shifted uncomfortably. She stood up and played with the cuff of her dress sleeve, choosing to speak for Hermione in this instance. "I… yes, I imagine it is."

"No room for mistakes. Good thing you have Hermione, who is so kind and sweet. Is that why you stopped taking a potion?" Luna tipped her head to the side, looking across the room before drawing her hands up to cover her ears. Her eyes drawn to Luna, Fleur still did not miss the look—surprised, almost accusatory or was it confused, hurt—that Hermione shot her. "I thought so. Not Nargles, but Wrackspurts seem quite drawn to veelas."

"Wrackspurts?" Hermione managed to choke out after a moment.

"What?" Luna asked, her hearing somewhat compromised by her hands blocking her ears.

"I asked what a Wrackspurt was," Hermione repeated, louder, projecting her voice across the room and past Luna's hands.

"They're invisible, they fly through your ears and make your mind go fuzzy. I think I told you about them before, Hermione? They're all over Hogwarts and there seem to be several in this room. You should be careful and guard your ears. They can be especially dangerous in situations such as yours." Luna warned them seriously, freeing one hand to whack at something in the air, presumably at a Wrackspurt zooming about the room. "Think I got it," she smiled victoriously before skipping off past Hermione and out the door.

Hermione crossed her arms, and leaned against the door's threshold, making sure the door was properly closed before speaking. "What was that about?"

"I… I honestly have no idea," Fleur shook her head and stood up, mindlessly scratching an itch on her wrist. It had recently begun to bother her for some reason or another hours ago, a nagging persistent sensation but no amount of itching seemed to relieve the sensation. "I have never heard of a Wrackspurt until now, but apparently I should be on the look out as they are attracted my kind, hm? Though I am not sure how to do so considering that they are invisible." She tried to joke as she avoided Hermione's piercing glare. Crossing the room, she started to pack up her leather satchel. When she turned around to face her girlfriend, Hermione was looking at her rather unimpressed and displeased. Apparently she was less than amused by Wrackspurts. Fleur could hardly blame her.

"Did you stop taking your potion?" 

"I swear on my life, I haven't stopped taking my potion," Fleur sighed, trying as subtly as possible to alleviate the itch that seemed burrowed beneath her skin. "Can we talk about this tonight?" Fleur tipped her head to the side, conceding to the Gryffindor. "We truly do not have time currently."

"Will we actually talk about it tonight or will you find yet another way to avoid it, Fleur?" Hermione re-crossed her arms over her chest, further illustrating her frustration.

Approaching Hermione, Fleur cupped the brunette's face in her hands and, for a brief moment, relished the dwindling effects of the potion. It felt like in many ways the first time she had touched Hermione. There was a strangeness to it, an unfamiliarity in touch, in physicality. Almost a newness to it. It no longer felt natural like before, as if it was something that would have to be relearned. Yet despite the dwindling numbness, Fleur almost instinctually wanted to pull away. "You should know by now that I am too exhausted for clever ruses, mon coeur. I do not wish to have any more secrets from you. If we had time, I would tell you right here and now, you have to trust me on this. However I am in desperate need of my check up and my potion. Pomfrey will come hunting me down if I do not report up to the Hospital Wing shortly. I'd rather not be interrupted."

Hermione nodded with hesitation and then exhaled, only momentarily deterred. "Sometimes you are the most impossible girlfriend ever."

Checking that her classroom door was indeed closed, Fleur rested her forehead against her lover's. "I love you very much. And I have so much that I need to apologize for. I have not been fair to you as of late. I know that. And I am trying to fix this."

"Just kiss me," Hermione interrupted.

The Nun's Potion still had its hold on Fleur, weak as it was, but she leaned in and kissed Hermione just the same. Softly at first, but Hermione's anger and frustration deepened the embrace. There was a rough quality, an urgency to Hermione that was not normally there. And as Hermione pushed Fleur against the wall, Fleur could feel the potion's affects slowly slip from her as she began willingly responding. As the potions affects on her dwindled, quieted down to hushed whispers, the hunger, the lust grew louder, seemingly stronger than ever.

Breaking apart to breath, panting, Fleur rested her forehead against Hermione's, running her hand (hungrily) down her cheek. More than anything she wanted to close the space in between their lips, but there was no time. And Fleur needed to remain in control. "I promise you, we will talk tonight. However I need to go to the Hospital Wing. Please. I swear I will set everything right after my appointment."

* * *

After Hermione became a permanent fixture to Fleur's visits to the Hospital Wing, Pomfrey allowed Hermione to wait for Fleur in the adjacent, unused private exam room instead of the hallway. As far as Fleur could tell, Hermione used the time to get started on her work. The walls were thin, though Hermione never revealed how much of Fleur's exams she did or did not actually overhear. However, Fleur was sure that her girlfriend could at least hear the muffled irritation of Pomfrey berating Fleur for her poor physical condition.

"I just don't understand this, Fleur. Despite all the potions, the double doses, you're deteriorating in ways I was not aware was even possible," Pomfrey shook her head. Up until this point, Fleur had only been able to calm her slightly. "Frankly you are showing symptoms of physical decay that are completely unconnected to your condition on top of your already alarming downward spiral. And on top of this, you are showing absolutely no concern!"

"This is merely a rough patch. I know my body. I assure you, I have this under control," Fleur smiled as reassuringly as she could muster. "I experienced something similar before coming to Hogwarts and look, I am still alive." A small lie perhaps, but easier, surely, than the truth. "A little more rest is all I need. The traveling took a lot out of me. Trust me. There is no reason to fear."

"Be that as it may, that was a long time ago Fleur. You were much stronger then." The annoyance in Pomfrey's voice was thinly veiled. "Tell me what you know that no one else seems to. How can I care for you when you are the only one you deem fit to know what's going on."

Fleur just shrugged, slipping on her dress. This was no conversation to have while in one's peach colored slip. "I do not see why you English obsess about worrying yourself unnecessarily over my condition. This is a rough patch, it occurs from time to time. Matters always take a turn for the worse before they become better, yes? I assure you once again and for the last time, as this is truly becoming a waste of both our time, that I am fine and that I will continue to be fine. I have no plans to be otherwise and see no serious indications to contradict my beliefs. Patience in all things, remember." (Patience in one thing, always.) "So Pomfrey if you have nothing else to say on the matter, I would kindly appreciate that you hand me my potion so I can be on my way. I trust that it is a double dose."

"Fleur…"

"The potion, Pomfrey." Fleur extended her hand, beckoning towards the phial sitting on the table by the nurse, adopting the no nonsense tone she occasionally had to use in the classroom. She did not have the time or the energy for this.

Exiting the room moments later, recovered from the (comforting) wretched taste, Fleur found Hermione waiting outside the door with both of their bags in hand, eyeing her suspiciously.

"What was that about?" Hermione inquired.

"Not now. Please," Fleur heard herself groaning, taking her leather satchel from Hermione. Quickly, she tried to recover, to stay calm. She absentmindedly scratched an itch (just above her right hip, no now a bit more to left, a little up, now lower). "I promise I will tell you everything tonight. Do you not trust me?"

"I…" Hermione started, almost considering going on the defensive before shaking her head. "I just want to know what's going on."

"And you will. Tonight," Fleur lowered her head to catch Hermione's eye, for the moment ignoring (the hurt) that Hermione did not answer her question, did not say whether she trusted Fleur or not. "I have to go lie down. I am dreadfully weary. Accompany me for part of the way?"

Hermione nodded silently, following alongside as Fleur made her way out of the Hospital Wing. But as they walked slowly, Fleur found herself regretting the invitation, found herself quickening the pace. While the two had fought before, this was a new sensation, a new tension (an old tension only stronger). A wedge of irritability seemed to be in place, even in mundane conversations, and the two lovers began snapping at each other.

"I'm not saying that you're right or wrong, I'm just saying you're potentially consulting an erroneous and out of date translation," Hermione explained with an edge to her voice as they turned a corner away from the Great Hall.

"Potentially erroneous and out of date translation? I am referring to the original French manuscript," Fleur protested, her frustration clearly evident in her voice.

"Then maybe it is your own translation skills at fault," Hermione stated calmly. "Or your interpretation of the truth and what is actually important in the text."

"Hermione, please," Fleur sighed in exasperation.

"What? All I'm saying is—"

"I know. Please. Let's not do this." Fleur ran her hands through her blonde hair, allowing her exhaustion to overcome her irritation.

"You probably should listen to her, Hermione," Luna had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Though considering their proximity to the Great Hall, the girl was probably merely on her way to dinner a little early.

Hermione whipped around to face the younger girl. "Excuse me?"

"Pardon?" Fleur blinked, surprised by both the sudden appearance of the younger blonde and how the girl had seemingly come to her defense.

"Oh dear, the Wrackspurts," Luna observed gravely, as she once again began hitting the empty air. "They're attracted to compromised constitutions, much easier to breed confusion, which is why they are attracted to veelas. The affects of the veela charms, I believe. A Wrackspurt in the ear can prove to be deadly. Do be careful."

"Luna, there is no such—" Hermione started, and then stopped herself.

"You should be careful not to create more aggravation for someone in her condition. Fleur has a great many worries, as all veelas do," Luna advised. "It is really very sad that there are only so few left. I always wondered why, but perhaps now I understand a little better."

For a moment, Fleur and Hermione simply stared at Luna, who turned on her heel and headed off towards the Great Hall, periodically hitting the air as she went. Fleur itched her forearm furiously—the itching that began earlier was only intensifying—before trying to cover up the redness caused by her ministrations with the palm of her hand. In the back of her mind, she wondered at the cause—was it an allergy? Some mild curse or hex?

"What was she talking about?" Hermione turned her attention back to her girlfriend after watching the Ravenclaw round the corner, nearly running into a first year Slytherin in the process. Fleur opened her mouth, but Hermione interjected and did nothing to hide her exasperation. "Tonight, I know. Always tonight. Never now. You and your bloody patience."

* * *

Hermione arrived slightly earlier than usual that evening, not that surprising considering. If Fleur had more of her right mind about her, she would have known to expect this. Though perhaps part of her wished for an unruly first year, a particularly tricky essay to hold her girlfriend up just a little longer—not too much, mind you. Just enough to pull herself together.

Fleur had spent the time since their tense, terse goodbye unproductively. She had tried to focus and to distract herself by working on lesson plans. But there was no point as she had finished most of them for the remainder of the semester while recuperating. The house was spotlessly clean and there was almost nothing for Fleur to kill time with as she waited nervously.

Perhaps, though, that was for the best. As time passed, she became more and further aware of the Nun's Potion leaving her body. It become increasingly clear that even if there was something she should do, it was doubtful that she would be able to do it. By seven o'clock, she had broken out in a cold sweat, her body alternating between hot and cold flashes. The mysterious itching from before could also be explained. The tickling and crawling sensation that ran deep underneath her skin past the reach of her fingers only worsened with time. She chased the sensation across her body, over most of her skin and a sense of relief was always just out of reach. Her efforts only left her with progressively stronger trails of raised, red skin displaying where her fingers had been before and where they would probably return to again. At some point earlier on in the evening, she had tried to force herself to eat dinner but the mere smell of food had nauseated her. What little she managed choke down did not stay down. Even a few sips of water were not long with(in) her.

And so, when Hermione portkeyed in, that is how she discovered her lover, curled up in a ball slumped against the bathroom wall next to the toilet. Fleur had just brushed her teeth from the last wave of nausea. And while she was fairly confident that was it was over, she did not feel like testing that theory too much. The cold tile on the bathroom floor was comforting, soothing. Centering.

Hermione leaned up against the threshold of the bathroom door, crossing her arms, more annoyed than observant for the moment. "I have been calling your name, why didn't you answer? What are you doing in here, hiding?"

"I am not feeling entirely my best at the moment, my sincere apologies," Fleur rubbed her face, running her hand over her mouth, trying to wipe away any signs of her sickness, checking to see if everything was in proper order, before trying to sit up properly. It was not lost on her, this reversal that Hermione proposed, the time when it was Hermione who hid from her, outside the Hospital Wing before Fleur had first truly declared her heart, her intentions. How things had changed since then. (And how things had stayed the same.)

"A clever ruse to get out of talking?" Hermione quipped and Fleur flashed her a look. And as Hermine's eyes fully considered Fleur's curled up figure on the bathroom floor, compassion flashed across her face. "You really are ill." She unfolded her arms across her chest.

"I have been since I was seventeen, I thought you knew that. I have not been pretending all this time, mon coeur." Fleur leaned her head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling before rolling her head to look back on her lover, allowing her exhaustion to fully show through for a moment.

"Fleur. You know what I mean."

Fleur nodded slightly. "It is hard to keep all this illness straight. However, yes, I think the most recent of it has passed for now. I just brushed my teeth, however I hope you do not take it personally if I might wish to forgo a kiss of greeting just for tonight."

"Oh, Fleur," Hermione sat down on the floor next to Fleur and touched her leg comfortingly. 

"My body is the same as everyone else's, Hermione," Fleur rested her head on her girlfriend's shoulder. When Hermione allowed the gesture of affection, something the Frenchwoman was truly nervous about, Fleur showed no inclination of moving. In a way feeling, touching Hermione as before was as disconcerting, if not more, than the numbness. And Fleur found that she somehow strangely missed the frustrating distance created by the potion, the safety, the wall of defense found within it. As if something was missing in all of this. 

"Not exactly, Fleur," Hermione exhaled slowly.

"No. My legs are a little nicer than most, though perhaps not as shapely as yours, I must admit. And my breasts, if I can say so myself, are not that bad, hm? Actually I am rather pleased with them, personally," Fleur grinned shakily. "Though, at times, I fear they might a bit uneven upon closer inspection. Though this is not something I have been able to verify. The right, I believe, is a little larger which is perhaps why you favor it so?"

"Cute. Are you going to tell me what's going on with you, Fleur?" Hermione pressed on, not allowing for distraction, though blushing slightly. And it wasn't that she sounded angry so much as extremely worried. It was this more than anything that shook Fleur into the honesty she had promised.

Fleur lifted her head off her girlfriend's shoulder. She inhaled and held the breath in for a moment before releasing it. "I made a poor decision. And the consequences of that decision have perhaps turned out worse than I could have foreseen. However, at the time, I honestly yet foolishly did not think I had any other choice and even now I… but the choice has had some… unforeseen consequences that have been severely unpleasant."

"Fleur, what are you talking about?" The nervousness, the worry, was only rising in the brunette and Fleur knew it was not bound to get any better any time soon.

"I have…" Fleur bit her lip and looked down. "I have been anxious about my ability to control myself around you. I believe I might have mentioned this, yes?"

"Control yourself?" After meeting Hermione's parents, Fleur was now able to see parts of them, little idiosyncrasies and tone inflections, within the brunette.

"Physically, yes, you are right, I am different from most people. The need for the courtship ritual… it is different from human lust and arguably stronger, more pervasive, especially after being sealed. Or so I imagine. I have only ever had this one body, this one desire. And even before, I admit, I have been having trouble controlling myself around you, physically. This need of you often threatens to take me over. I want you, I crave you so very much." Fleur looked down, embarrassed. "Hermione, I am so utterly frightened of rushing you into something you are not ready for, something you do not want. And I did not know how to contain it, how to contain myself, to prevent that from happening and so," Fleur buried her face in her hand, frightened of Hermione's reaction. "I apologize. I… there is this potion, it has been out of fashion for centuries and has mostly been forgotten. Except in veela communities where some still use it to control, well, sexual urges. It was been a bit more… effective than I thought it would be."

"This is the potion Luna was talking about, the one you stopped taking?" Hermione's tone caused the hairs on the back of Fleur's neck to stand up on edge. It was hard to splice apart the anger, the fear and the hurt in her words. It was more of a statement guised as a question. "What did it do to you?"

"Luna is smarter and more perceptive than I think most give her credit for, I am afraid. Though how she knew… I brewed it the morning you left with your parents. I believe in my exhaustion, I might have…" her mind returning to the incident where it boiled over, burning her hand, "or perhaps the potion is naturally this pervasively effective and debilitating. Or maybe it is in part due to the physical state I already find myself in. There are too many factors at play and potions were never my specialty unfortunately and so I honestly do not know." Fleur bit her lip, not able to look Hermione in the face yet, settling instead on the way Hermione rested her hand on her knee and the warmth of the contact. There was comfort and love in that gesture. "I apologize for the deceit, but the point of the potion was not to rush you. If you knew… I apologize. I wish only for matters to progress naturally and at a pace that is comfortable for you."

"Because drugging yourself to suppress your desires is completely natural, Fleur. Sometimes I want to know what your deranged definition of natural and normal really is. But you drugging yourself? I don't want that, you know that. How could you even think that I… for a week you've been… this is why you've been so distant? All this time and I thought… and on top of that this potion is making you sick?" The frustration (the hurt) was rising in Hermione's voice. The quiet betrayal. "Don't you trust me enough that I'd know when I'm ready, that I wouldn't let anything happen if I wasn't? Fleur, you have to promise me that this stops now. Or I… I don't know what. It just has to stop now."

"Hermione, you—" But Fleur bit back the words on her tongue. It would do no good to tell Hermione that she did not understand. And maybe it was Fleur who did not quite understand. (But what she did know was veela strength, strength of need and physical strength, she still had both underneath her weakness and exhaustion.) "I destroyed what was left this morning. There is none left for me to take. I believe that this is actually perhaps the reason I am so ill now.

"You're going through withdrawal? It's only been a week," Hermione's eyes moved over Fleur's body, following Fleur's hand as it furiously scratched her reddening forearm. Judging, examining. "Merlin, your skin, you're…"

"It itches. My whole skin, underneath… it itches. I cannot… it will not stop." Fleur buried her face in her knees, forcing herself to stop scratching. "Hermione, I have been sick for quite some time. I made a slight misjudgment. But I stand by my intentions. Soon, I trust, I will be fine again."

"Intentions or not, I have never seen you in this bad of shape before. And what's fine for you, Fleur? You keep trying to hide it, but I notice. I love you and all I am doing is watching you deteriorate as you push me away. Fleur _how sick_ are you? Even before you took this potion, how sick were you?" And when Fleur did not answer right away, Hermione pressed. "How sick are you, Fleur? Tell me! How sick are you?"

Fleur looked away, her eyes drawing to the corner of where the walls met the floor. "The potion hasn't so much made me worse, but compromised my ability to finesse over it." Her voice was soft and defeated.

Hermione wrapped her arms around the curled French woman, her hands finding Fleur's and clasping them softly within her grip, preventing the older woman from returning to scratch her skin. "Fleur, why do you do this to yourself? If you just let me in… I don't know if you're trying to protect me but you can't keep shutting me out and going at everything alone. It has to stop. You have me now." Hermione kissed her softly on the forehead. "I love you, you need to trust in that. I will always be by your side if you let me."

Fleur looked up as she felt Hermione's lips press again against her forehead en route to meet her girlfriend's lips. But out of habit, out of awareness of her poor breath last minute she redirected and kissed Hermione's cheek. Pulling back, she held her hand over her mouth cautiously.

"Fleur…"

"I just… I brushed my teeth, but I have been…" Fleur looked down, speaking through the hand over mouth. "I love you too much to kiss you like this."

"You are the most peculiar woman, if only your fan club knew. But no, I like being your secret keeper in that regard and having you all to myself." As Hermione spoke, nearly a whisper tickling Fleur's face, she took a strand of her lover blonde's hair within her hand, twisting it back and forth between her index finger and thumb. "How are you feeling now?"

Fleur shrugged slightly. "Better, I suppose. Hermione, I truly am sorry."

"Why don't we get you to bed?"

Fleur looked away. "About that, perhaps, considering, I should sleep alone tonight… I do not wish to keep you up and I will surely not be much of a bed companion tonight."

Hermione sought Fleur's eyes, her gaze commanding. Despite this, there was sweetness, an underlining tendernesss to her tone. "No. There's no more pushing me away, Fleur. You've been going at this alone for far too long. I will not be denied the right to take care of my girlfriend. And if you have a problem, I'm sorry. Actually, no. I'm not sorry. Deal with it. I love you."

And so Fleur fell in and out of sleep, alternating between shivering and breaking out into a sweat, encircled lovingly in Hermione's arms through it all. Spooning Fleur tenderly, Hermione held Fleur's hands in such a manner to prevent Fleur from wreaking further havoc upon her sensitive skin. A few times in the night, Fleur awoke with the realization, with the sensation of Hermione running her hands delicately through her hair or kissing her shoulder. And Fleur had no idea what she had done to deserve someone who loved her this much. Not that she had been fully forgiven, Fleur knew that. But in the quiet of the night, Fleur found comfort in her girlfriend's surprisingly strong arms.

* * *

By Wednesday most of the withdrawal had worked it way through and out of Fleur's system. While Monday night was by far the worst, some effects lingered on through Tuesday. But by Wednesday it was mostly the remembrances left, such as her skin recovering from days of itching. Despite the warm weather, Fleur was restricted to long sleeves until the redness receded—for vanity, privacy and professionalism. Fleur took to taking her potion twice a day, and doubling the one she took in the morning, sometimes doubling the evening dose as well. It seemed to help, if only by giving her a little extra strength to endure the dwindling affects of her admitted stupidity. However in some ways the itching, waves of nausea, and mood swings were in the end preferable to Hermione. Supportive though Hermione was, as patient and loving as she was, Hermione was also hurt and frustrated by what had caused this turn of events. Something she was not shy about making abundantly clear at every opportunity. But by Wednesday, matters seemed to have improved significantly. Fleur's body was almost fully recovered and Hermione was beginning to forgive Fleur.

That evening Hermione came over early, as was becoming her habit to check in on Fleur. Settling in for the evening, the two lovers sat across from each other at the small kitchen table drinking chamomile tea and discussing the day. A simple enough moment, pleasurable and beautiful in itself.

However Fleur had a hard time concentrating. While Hermione was describing an amusing anecdote about Ron getting kicked out of the library, all Fleur successfully managed to truly pay attention to was the rhythmic rising and falling of Hermione's breasts. Fleur could barely keep her eyes from (overtly) hungrily (and repeatedly) raking over her girlfriend's body. As much as she wanted to listen, the seductive quality of her girlfriend's lips were speaking louder than the words they were forming. Fleur barely knew when to laugh or respond to her lover's story.

And so, Fleur looked down as Hermione spoke, as opposed to her usual attentiveness, and quietly sipped her tea, biting back her desires. Crossing her legs, trying to run her grocery list through her head and perform basic mathematical equations. She smoothed the creases in her skirt. Anything to distract herself from her urges. But even just listening, Hermione's voice had a powerful affect on Fleur. Was this why she had taken the Nun's Potion in the first place, her maddening desires? Fleur barely knew how to function in Hermione's presence.

"Fleur, are you okay?" Hermione placed down her tea, slowly becoming aware of her girlfriend's strangeness.

Fleur looked up from her tea, "Hm?"

"You seem a bit… distant." Hermione regarded her warily.

"Tired, is all," Fleur spoke, her voice becoming flustered as she tried to hide what was going on inside her. She averted eye contact. She avoided even looking at her. Instead her eyes fell to her teacup.

"Fleur…" Hermione started and then sighed, giving up on whatever she was about to say. "Should we clean up and go to bed?"

Fleur paused, she hesitated, she bit her lip. If sitting across a table was this maddening for her, how would it be to lie down next to Hermione? The warmth of her skin, the swell of her breasts, her collarbone peeking just above the loose neck of her nightshirt in the most alluring manner…

And when she did not answer, Hermione examined her slightly. "Fleur?"

"Sorry, I… I suppose I am a bit distracted tonight," Fleur placed down her teacup. She did not know how she would be able to sleep next to Hermione and not…

"Distracted, by what?"

Fleur looked to the side, running different answers through her mind and finally settling on the truth. "By how much I want you right now."

"I am right here," Hermione responded, her voice bold, unhesitatingly.

"You do not understand how—"

"Then show me," Hermione stood up from her seat, her eyes challenging her lover.

Fleur was aware of every step Hermione took, every movement she made, how every muscle moved as she lowered herself onto Fleur's lap. And Fleur, she was helpless to watch. But not entirely as helpless as she hoped (as she thought). As she reached up, grasped her girlfriend by the neck and brought her lips crashing down to hers. Hermione opened her mouth willingly welcoming in Fleur's tongue, groaning into her mouth. Her hand's roaming, running in circles as they explored known (and lesser known) territory across Fleur's body. Over her stomach, down her sides, across her arms, circling closer and closer to Fleur's breasts. Teasing.

And soon Fleur grew restless, grew frustrated with kissing (merely kissing). It wasn't enough. With Hermione, it was never enough. She wanted more. Deeper. Forward. More. More. More. Now. Her body urging her forward. Forward into Hermione. She needed to be so much closer to Hermione, she needed so much more of her body. They were too far apart and Fleur put all her effort into closing this gap. With each touch, with every second she only craved for more. Grasping, clinging to Hermione's body.

Her hand slipped beneath the hem of Hermione's shirt, having first untucked the garment from the rest of the school uniform. Without a moment to pause and relish the feel of Hermione's skin, Fleur's fingers found her breast, slipped underneath her bra and traced their way up to the younger woman's nipple. Frustrated by its restrictive nature, Fleur quickly pushed the bra aside, out of the way of her attentions. Fleur grinned as Hermione arched her back further against her, into her, further into her touch, moaning and gripping Fleur all the tighter. Hermione lightly bit Fleur's lower lip.

Up until this point, their embraces had been of an exploratory nature with only an underlining of hunger. But now it was all coming to the forefront, overwhelming and consuming. Fleur wished she could catch Hermione's eyes to see if she was okay, to see if it, if this was okay. To see if they were with each other on this. It was new territory and Fleur wanted, needed to know if that they were in this together. They were hovering, circling with growing impatience, around what she needed so badly. And Fleur needed to know if this was truly what they both wanted in this moment.

But Hermione's hands ran through her hair, pushing, pulling her close, closer. Holding her there, kissing her deeper and deeper. She was aware of her desire for Hermione threatening to finally break free. Distantly, Fleur felt it slipping away past her fingertips and into the forefront of her affections. And yet, despite this, because of this, she could not bring herself to pull away.

"Merlin, I've missed touching you like this." Hermione broke away from Fleur's lips, turning her attention down her bare neck. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, tracing Fleur's sloping neckline, nibbling briefly on Fleur's collarbone.

"Careful…" Fleur's voice more of a breath, a whisper.

"You bruise easily," Hermione observed in between lingering kisses and soft nips on Fleur's neck, missing, in part, Fleur's warning.

Whatever else Fleur was trying to say was lost as her breath hitched, as Hermione moved down lower still, finding Fleur's breast, her nipple through her clothes. Fleur's back arched as if she was a puppet pulled by the strings of her desire, of Hermione's hands, Hermione's lips. Soon, it, they became a hazy loss of control, of skin, of tongues, of sensation, maddening sensations. And it was never enough. 

Fleur barely noticed the first change, from the chair to the kitchen floor. And if pressed, she would not be able to reenact exactly how it occurred, though she was sure it was through her guidance.

The second change, the transformation, though arguably much larger, she noticed even less (but would later remember far more clearly than the first). Strange, considering how hard it is to not notice one's physical form shifting.

And the final change, only moments later, in mood was lost entirely on Fleur. She had already lost her grip on any grasp at control or awareness of her actions, of their consequences. Of the reactions. Her body became solely her hunger, her desperation, her fear (her love, mutated by urgency). So she was aware of nothing but her body and Hermione's body. And even then, she was barely aware at all, lost completely to some inner creature of desire.

Until she felt a sharp pain across her face and in her stomach that brought her back to reality, aware suddenly that this was the second time she had felt that pain. Instinctually she pulled away and sat up suddenly, her hand withdrawing to nurse her throbbing cheek. And as she did so, she suddenly bared witness a scene she had caused, a scene she would never forget, a scene that cut straight to the heart of her.

Hermione on the floor, arm covering and protecting her chest, a ripped shirt. Her eyes fearful, panicky. A shallow scratch on her face, blood slowly welling to the surface. "Fleur, I… I said stop." Voice shaky.

The familiar sensation covered Fleur's skin as she felt herself switch back into her human form. The claws—her claws—receding to reveal her human hands underneath. (When had she…? And the scratch on Hermione's face, she did that. How?)

Fleur's heart stopped dead in her chest as she slowly, clumsily removed herself from on top of the brunette. Pushing herself away across the floor, a safe distance where she could do no further harm, alarmed. She could find nothing. She could form no words. Not even a syllable, not even an "I…" to stutter out into the suffocating, deadening silence. Too stunned, sitting a distance away, becoming more and more aware of what had just transpired. She had gone too far. She had a piece of Hermione's shirt in her hand.

Slowly, jerkily, trying to hold her shirt together, Hermione stood up leaving Fleur on the floor. She took a step back, steadied herself against the kitchen table. "I… you…" A moment passed when Fleur could feel Hermione's eyes on her, but now more than ever Fleur could not look up and face the girl she loved. She had gone too far. In that moment she had revealed herself to be despicable. "What happened with you…? I said stop. I said stop. Didn't you hear me? And you… you…" Hermione's voice was weak, desperate, pleading in its softness. "I said stop." And with each time Hermione repeated herself, there was a new form of pain, confusion, desperation, anger present, revealed.

And still there was nothing Fleur could say. There was no apology, no excuse. There was nothing and so Fleur said nothing. She looked to the floor, subconsciously gripping a piece of Hermione's shirt, jagged, hastily and carelessly torn. More than anything Fleur wished she could have stopped. She wished she could have heard Hermione's pleas. Wished that she could control herself enough so Hermione would never have had to say stop. Wishing so many things, all impossible in that moment.

The room was filled with deadening, uncomfortable silence. And then?

And then Fleur heard Hermione's footsteps, slow and hesitating at first. But quickly picking up speed through the parlor, loudly echoing down the hall. And then the doort. Fleur cringed as the slam reverberated across her house.

And then she was alone on her kitchen floor (she dared not look at the family portraits) staring at the small piece of ripped white fabric.

Alone on her kitchen floor, it all began to come back to Fleur. What occurred in between her losing control and the door slam. The shift into her veela form, Hermione saying first soft then louder pleading, demanding. How she struggled underneath Fleur, the slap, the knee to the stomach, and then the harder punch. Thankful Hermione had managed to stop her when she did. Fleur gripped her face, pulled her hair as it all came back to her.

Her worst fear had come true.

Her limbs trembling, Fleur pulled herself up into a standing position. Almost immediately, she turned over the kitchen table in frustration with as much force as she could muster letting out a cry of agony. The tea cups, the sugar bowl, the cream pitcher, the small dish of Hermione's favorite biscuits, they all flew across the room, shattering on impact, scattering across the kitchen floor. She then stood on the dripping, crumb-covered floor.

She was a monster; she knew this now. And she knew what to do next. It was easy to accio the portkey into the fire place. She watched the pages of  _Hogwarts, A History_  blacken and curl upon itself. It was mesmerizing to watch it burn, to witness the destruction. But she did not allow herself to be distracted for long. The portkey, that was only the first step. She did not need to consult the books in her kitchen cupboard to know what to do next or how.


	36. Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is not the most light hearted chapter. When I firsr wrote this story years, it was in part due to my fascination with the darkness and insecurities inside all of us and the fact that even the most beautiful and charming people are flawed creatures. First loves are always (melo)dramatic even without life or death consequences and letting someone in, truly in, can be one of scariest things we ever do. Digger deeper, however, this story is not just a love story. It's about Fleur learning to love and accept herself.  
> In other words: angst. All of the angst. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

 Just as she had done countless times since waking up, Fleur reached up and tentatively touched her face, finding the exact location below her eye where the bruise was forming. She pressed lightly at first, blindly tracing the outline with her finger tips guided by the pain alone, before applying further and further pressure and only withdrew her hand when she could no longer withstand the pain. This wasn't an action she repeated because she expected a different outcome. She knew full well it was going to hurt. That's why she did it.

She didn't want to let herself forgot, didn't know what to do next. It felt like the bruise was all she had left. A parting gift from her lover, a reminder. A remainder. Not knowing how to fix what happened the night before, it was easier, simpler to focus on the tangible, physical pain.

The truth was that Fleur still did not know what exactly happened when she lost control the night before. She knew that she had gone too far, that Hermione had said stop and wait and no. That Hermione had said no repeatedly. But what Fleur did not know is why she only heard, only registered her girlfriend's words in reverse. What she did not know was what had prompted her shift into veela form. (She could guess: heightened emotions, a physical overload after so long being repressed.)

The unwelcome and uncontrolled change in her body, frightened her more than her body's rapidly accelerating deterioration. She was losing every ounce of agency in her body. It wasn't safe. She wasn't safe. Not any more. She could no longer be trusted. This much was clear, Fleur knew.

Fleur knew that she was inherently weak. It went far past her dependency on potions to survive, how she bruised easily, or the constant exhaustion. The weakness within herself did not live within her muscles. It dwelled within her heart, deep in the thick (or thin) of her. Deep down she knew she wasn't the perfect, brave person everyone believed, or wanted to believe, her to be.

Her life was ripe with examples of this unpleasant truth. The Triwizard Tournament when she had performed so poorly and failed to even save her little sister. Her little sister who looked up to her, who idolized her, who should have never forgave Fleur but did so readily, so earnestly that it broke Fleur's heart. There were the years wasted devising reasons, rationalizations to avoid Hermione, denying the truth of the situation because she was scared to let someone in, scared to need someone. Not to mention her half-hearted seduction of Bill Weasley that never went anywhere. Or her inability to tell Hermione everything, anything right away for no real reason except for her own fear. All of it, examples of her weakness. 

It frightened her, how much she wanted, needed, craved, desired, longed for, and loved Hermione Jean Granger. Part of her wondered if this veela form of love was healthy. Couldn't there be some safer, more equal way to love? The doubt that would occasionally surface: did she truly love Hermione or was it some idea of Hermione, some image—similar to the faux-infatuation people felt under her thrall?

And so she ran away. Telling herself Hermione wasn't ready when really it was Fleur all along who wasn't ready. Who couldn't accept herself or her love.

Even if she ran away for the wrong reason, the fact remained that she couldn't control the veela within her. The fact as to why control eluded her remained a shameful mystery. Was she too diluted with human blood, too diluted with doubts and insecurities? Where was the veela when she needed it during the Tournament, in the maze, or at the bottom of the lake? Even as a human, Harry Potter, a fourteen year old wizard, was able to save Gabrielle when Fleur, part veela and three years his elder, could not. And was it not her strength, her power as a veela that was supposed to entice, to lure in a lover? And was it not exactly those parts of her that began to recede, to slip away the minute she fell in love and needed them the most? What did she have to offer Hermione, besides her weakening body and her insecurities? (Oh, the fickle veela.) Even her beauty, in a way, was an illusion. A glamour concealing the monster, the veela that only came out seemingly to strike disaster in Fleur's human life.

The shock, the horror etched into Hermione's face, the footsteps echoing, the slamming of the door… Had Fleur ever truly deserved Hermione?

She brought her hand back up to her face and pressed down again, harder this time, not allowing the tears to escape her eyes. And she knew, as one knew so many things when twisted with fear and doubt, that she had failed.

"By your age most people have learned that touching a bruise only makes it hurt more. If I didn't know any better, luv, I'd say you rather liked the pain," Rosmerta appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, face covered in worry.

"Rosmerta," Fleur swallowed in surprise, struggled to sit up higher in bed, her arms trembling a bit under her own weight. Perhaps she didn't have the strength or the awareness (or the care), but Fleur did nothing to fix her slightly astray nightgown. "What a… surprise. And so early."

"Fleur, it's nearly two in the afternoon. Normally, I'd assume you'd be teaching by now."

Fleur looked out the window, avoiding the woman's gaze. "Stalking me, are we Rosmerta? I had thought you mostly immune to my thrall. All this time, you hid it so well."

"Worried actually, luv. I just received an owl from Hermione about how you didn't show up to morning classes. She said you weren't in the hospital wing and not responding to any forms of communication. She sounded well frantic." Rosmerta crossed into the room. "Is everything alright?"

Fleur continued to stare out the window. "I am taking a personal day." There was nothing to say beyond her poor excuse. She wanted Rosmerta to leave but hoped that the astute woman would pick it up on her own.

"Fleur, she didn't tell me much but she told me you had a bit of a… miscommunication last night." As Rosmerta spoke, Fleur seemed to almost choke on the sound of her friend's words. "Fleur, you should talk to her. She's desperately trying to get a hold of you." Rosmerta pulled up a chair by Fleur's bedside. "Whatever happened last night can be—"

"No." Fleur's tone expressed a harsh finality that startled even herself. Fleur knew what happened last night was something she could never allow to happen again. But as she could not guarantee or trust herself to prevent it from happening again, this was the only solution she could find. Even so, as she continued to speak, there was a wavering, a trembling in her voice just below the finality. "There is… no getting past it. It is over." And while she had this thought countless times since that morning, it was first time she had said it out loud and it nearly crushed her. 

"Over?" Rosmerta struggled, clearly not anticipating Fleur's words or the finality in her tone.

Fleur fought to control her voice, to push down the emotions grasping, clawing at the edges of her, to ignore the overall sense of loss consuming her. "There is nothing to be done. I'm not strong enough." The last bit near a whisper, spoken towards her own left shoulder, resting just above her heart.

"Look, I don't know what happened between you two last night, but it can be worked out. She wants to work it out. At least try."

"Perhaps I do not want to try, Rosmerta. Perhaps I am too tired, too exhausted from it all. Did anyone ever consider that?" Fleur sighed, shaking her head, fighting back her rising frustration. Why must Rosmerta push her? Didn't she realize that Fleur was doing the right thing and didn't she realize how hard that was? "She deserves better."

"So what if she does? She loves  _you_. She wants  _you_. And I think she has a say in the matter."

"She will get over me." And even the idea of that was crushing.

"No. She won't." Rosmerta glared at Fleur as if completely baffled and offended. "Fleur, don't be a fool. Just because we're human and don't have some magical biology predisposing us towards some epic and all consuming love doesn't mean we don't love just as strongly as you. Don't you dare think that. Because we can and we do. We do it every day. So don't you _ever_ underestimate her love for you." Rosmerta exhaled, slowly trying to calm herself. "Maybe it's easier for you to think otherwise right now, but it's complete and utter bollocks. And you know it."

"She should not love a…" Fleur struggled with the words, swallowing the truth back down her vocal chords. As often as she had said it in her mind, she could not quite bring the words to life out in the air. She had said too much already.

"Fleur…" Rosmerta's tone softened and she reached out to touch Fleur's shoulder. Fleur jerked away from the touch violently.

"I am not the good, virtuous person you think I am. This bruise? She had to hit me before I stopped." Fleur's breath hitched, the memory coming back to her. Her eyes glazed over distantly as she spoke, her hand instinctually gravitating back up towards her face, towards the bruise. For a moment she paused, recovering, coming back into herself, finding some ounce of composure amongst her shaking, quivering hands. "She will move on. I trust that in her. She's strong. And loving. She will find happiness. She deserves that." Rosmerta opened her mouth to respond, but the words seemed stuck on her tongue and before she could dislodge them, Fleur continued, "But no one finds happiness with a monster. And that is exactly what I am." And as if that was all she had left to say, Fleur rolled over onto her side away from Rosmerta.

"Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy being impossible." Rosmerta groaned as she stood up, taking the not so subtle hint that the conversation was over. "Look, please take care of yourself. I don't know what happened last night or what is going on with you but… promise me that you'll take care of yourself." And when Fleur did not respond, Rosmerta sighed. "I am going to take your silence as a promise unless you say otherwise."

Fleur waved her hand, waving goodbye to her friend. The barmaid could interpret matters however she chose, but it did not change the truth of the situation. Rosmerta stood there for a few moments longer before finally walking out of the room, leaving Fleur alone in the deafening silence of her own misery.

Once alone Fleur slid her hand underneath her pillow. Hermione's pillow, infused with the smell of the brunette's shampoo, had been banished to the floor long ago where it was supposed to lie forgotten, but remained constantly remembered. The spot, the 'this was where Hermione's pillow once was' haunted her even in her sleep when she instinctually reached out to find warmth and comfort and found none beside her.

Under her own pillow lay the small piece of Hermione's shirt along with the charmed piece of parchment—one of the last connections, along with her bruise, she still allowed herself to hold onto. While she had meant solely to retrieve the cloth, her fingers brushed up against the parchment. It warmed to her touch, alerting her that Hermione was once again trying to contact her. Until that morning, the sensation had always a brought a smile to Fleur's face, an eager anticipation over what the girl had written her. But now… Fleur did not know if she could face Hermione or if she could bring herself to read what Hermione had to say.

For what if Hermione hated her? What if her words were laced with rage and pain? Or worse: what if Rosmerta was right? What if Hermione still loved her and forgave her? Fleur knew she would not stand on her resolve if this was so. No matter what, even if Fleur would not survive, Hermione would. And that was the important part, right? The Hermione would survive and find happiness with someone else.

The parchment warmed to her touch again and Fleur pulled it out from under her pillow. For a moment, she was tempted to open it—her weakness coming to the surface again. Her fingers traced along the edges, the folds as she eyed it guardedly. Again and again, it warmed. It was tempting to destroy the parchment, but she knew she did not have it in her. Instead, she placed it in her nightstand's drawer with firm resolve. It would be better that way. Out of sight, out of mind. (Like the pillow, like the half of the bed that still smelled like Hermione's shampoo.) Carefully, wand in hand, she checked the barriers she had placed around her home the night before. It had drained most of her energy to create the person-specific barrier, but at least now Hermione was safe from her. And that was what mattered, after all.

Fleur fell asleep, cradling her body around her fist that tightly gripped the piece of cloth. Unconsciousness seemed so much easier than being awake. But the dreams, the nightmares, remained.

* * *

When Fleur awoke, her father was sitting at the edge of her bed, smiling sadly as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Fleur silently regarded him, surprised at his sudden arrival but mostly ashamed. There was some part of her that had always let herself believe that her parents could make everything better, that they were infallible and could save her in the end if need be. But now she was faced with the realization that this was not actually true—they could not save her. And worse, she had failed them. However her father, he looked down at her with such loving, understanding eyes. It was almost too much for Fleur to bear.

"Papa, I…" How did they know to come? It had to have been the same as with Rosmerta: Hermione.

"Sssh. Save your strength. I did not mean to wake you. Your mother and sister are downstairs getting settled. Apolline, I believe, is trying to remember how to make soup and your sister is pretending to help." Fleur's stomach dropped when she realized Gabrielle was here too… "Should I bring some up for you when it is done?" He spoke softly. And Fleur wondered why he was not enraged, frustrated, disappointed. She wondered how he could still love her, look her in the eye, how he could still use that loving tone he had used with all her all those years ago when she was still innocent, when she had not yet fallen prey to her own weakness.

But then maybe he didn't know the truth of the situation. What had Hermione told them exactly?

"I…" Fleur opened her mouth, wishing to protest, to understand, to say something but failing. Shocked, unable to handle the kindness, the warmth of the situation at hand.

"I am not taking no for an answer," Tristan's tone was still loving, but there was that undertone of finality. It was rare for the man to insist on something, but when he did, despite his warmth and love, or perhaps in a way because of it, he was not a man to be easily refused. "You need your strength. The nurse, Madame Pomfrey I believe, will be down in an hour or so to check up on your condition. This is also not an option."

Fleur opened her mouth but quickly closed it. She looked down, unable to say what was hanging in the air in front of them. Her condition was past questionable. She was past check ups. Past potions. She knew this and she was sure he knew as well. But for the moment it seemed that they were going to pretend as if they didn't know. Who was it for, at this point, this game of pretend? Fleur was not sure she had the strength to play for much longer, but for their sake she would try.

"We love you very much," he sighed and stood up. "Now, please, excuse me. I know you need your sleep and that you must be incredibly exhausted. I merely wanted to let you know we were here. We can talk when your strength is up. If you want." And then he left the room closing the door gently behind him.

Despite her attempts, her eyes soon closed to the familiar yet strange noises of her family rustling downstairs. What were they doing downstairs in her house (their house)? In the moments before sleep overtook her, Fleur remembered the kitchen, destroyed. Littered with overturned table and chairs. Broken dishes. The spilled tea that had no doubt dried by now, staining the floorboards and leaving behind once-soggy crumbs that would now cling stubbornly to the floor. What had they thought upon seeing the kitchen, the burnt book in the fireplace? (Part of her realized Hermione would be enraged upon learning that Fleur had destroyed  _Hogwarts, A History_. At least it wasn't the brunette's only copy. This copy, the brunette once explained, had been her back up. A back up in case of what, Fleur had always wanted to know but never asked. Perhaps now she did.)

* * *

 

It was still light outside her window when her father placed a warm bowl of soup in front of her and woke up her with a kiss on her forehead. The smell of food nearly nauseated her. Under her father's watchful eye, Fleur sipped the soup more for his well being than her own. She wished he did not have to see her like this, bruised, ashamed, hands trembling under the weight of the spoon. No sooner had the soup been finished—an exhausting task in itself—than Tristan stood up, bowl in and hand, and led Pomfrey in. Tristan excused himself to give his daughter privacy.

This is where Fleur lost her hold on her good behavior.

She was exhausted in ways she had never experienced before and in her tiredness she only wanted to be left alone. She had conceded to her family, to her father's sad warmth, yes. But to be poked and prodded at with eternally cold hands, to suffer under the disapproving, worried eyes, when they all knew that she most likely beyond hope? Could she not have dignity? They must know what monstrosity she had committed, they must, and still, and yet… why?

At the end of the examination, which she suffered through with stubborn indigence, not allowing herself to slip into the normal well-practiced routine of before, she felt the familiar weight of the potion in her hand. Even before she brought it to her lips she knew what it would taste like. She could recall it all so clearly it did not even feel like a memory, how it would feel in her mouth, how it would coat her throat and teeth. The chalky aftertaste. Hesitating centimeters from her lips, she brought the phial down and regarded it for a moment. No. She never wanted to taste this form of weakness ever again. Even if ever again was a week at best. A week without potions, it seemed so glorious, so lovely, so refreshing. Perhaps there was some silver lining to admitting defeat and failure in the only thing that truly mattered.

Pomfrey did not have time to react before Fleur flung the phial weakly. As most of Fleur's physical strength had dwindled, it did not make it across the room. Neither did it shatter on impact like she had hoped. Instead it flew in a lazy arc leading a trail of liquid before landing on its side and spilling the rest of the contents on the carpet. The anti-climatic result was followed by the smell of the potion slowly permeating the air.

"Fleur!" Pomfrey gasped.

"The potion is lacking in point. I do not have the energy for useless actions," Fleur stated simply. "I do not have time, period."

"Fleur, this is utterly ridiculous!"

Fleur shook her head, taking a motherly tone in response to Pomfrey's more frantic. "Let us not delude ourselves now."

"I don't know what is going on with you. Or why you've put up barriers around the house preventing—"

"Please," Fleur tone was holding a desperate pleading. "Let me have my choice in this, let me have my say. I demand dignity."

"Dignity? This is not dignity. You call being more melodramatic than a teenager dignified?"

Fleur glared at the woman before sighing in exhaustion. "Please, Pomfrey. I lack the strength and motivation to continue with this game of pretend." Fleur exhaled slowly, gaining comfort in her new resolution. "You have done all that you can and I am thankful for that. But now I kindly request that you leave my bedroom."

"At least talk to her, for Merlin's sake!"

"I thank you deeply and sincerely for your efforts. I take your professional opinion under advisement. Doctor's orders, I imagine, hm? However it is to my own regret that I was never a better patient. Now please, I would escort you out myself, however I seem to be lacking in the ability to stand currently. Forgive my rudeness and show yourself out."

Pomfrey opened her mouth only to close it, before finally speaking. "Fleur. This isn't as hopeless as you make it out to be. You can still—"

"Good bye Pomfrey." Fleur rolled over on to her side away from the older woman. This was all she could do, lacking the ability to stand up and walk away. Somewhere she knew that this was not how she wished to leave it with the older woman but she needed the conversation to end.

"Get over yourself Fleur. Your behavior is hardly becoming." And when Pomfrey finally left, Fleur was granted a momentary, shallow relief.

* * *

Fleur awoke to the morning light shining in through the window. She felt a familiar weight and the warmth of a familiar hand on top of her own. By the time her eyes fully opened, her entire world came crashing down on her yet again. The sick feeling returned to her heart, her stomach. Her dry mouth, her exhausted muscles. In the groggy haze of the morning, she had thought it was Hermione. But even before her eyes fully opened, she knew that this was not true.

Even if Hermione had truly forgiven her, there was no getting past the barriers around her house. Protection spells and barriers had always been Fleur's specialty, a skill she had only refined after spending a year observing and studying the goblins at Gringotts. It would take days to discover the source, the remedy for her type of magic, even for someone of Hermione's immense ability and knowledge.

Her mother sat on a chair besides her, slumped over partly onto the bed and snored lightly in her sleep (though the older woman would never admit it if Fleur ever brought it up).

"Mother?" Fleur spoke quietly as if afraid to actually wake the other woman. Since her family's arrival yesterday, she had only seen her father. Her mother and her sister had seemingly been avoiding her and Fleur couldn't blame them. She'd avoid herself too if she had the chance. But how long had she been there, the entire night?

"Fleur," Apolline lifted her head and regarding her daughter cautiously as she sat up. In that moment Apolline seemed much older. Wrinkles never before noticed seemed to line her face far past the age of her own mother Agnes. The two women were silent, unsure of what to say. A strange, unspoken tension filled the room. Fleur could easily read the worry, the fear, the anxiety etched deeply in her mother's face and felt immediately ashamed for causing it. Her mother didn't deserve this. Neither did Tristan or Gabrielle. (Or Hermione.) She knew this. She just didn't know how to fix it, how to change it, how to be better. She didn't know if she had it in her.

"I thought you were," her mother began and then corrected herself. "I thought you would…"

"Would what?" Fleur sat up, herself, adjusting her body, her clothes to the best of her ability. "Be smarter than this? Be better, maybe, or stronger?" There was bitterness, a defensive quality in her tone that startled even her. "What did you think, Mother?"

Apolline looked away, biting her lip and swallowing back something. Fleur instantly regretted causing that reaction in her mother. "I was—I am worried about you."

"I was sleeping, Mother. I do it nearly every night and have been for twenty years," Fleur exhaled. "I do not think there is much to worry about in that regard."

"Anuk," Apolline started, her breath hitching.

Fleur opened and closed her mouth, holding back a myriad, a flood, a deluge of comments that should never pass her lips before finally settling on, "May she rest in peace."

"Died in her sleep," Apolline stood up, straightening her skirt slightly. "I am going to make breakfast. That is, if you haven't smashed all the breakfast utensils as well. I admit that I did not check the extensiveness of the damage you caused in your apparent tantrum as I was too busy cleaning up after it. Honestly, I thought you liked that tea set." And with that, she left the room, not waiting for a reply. 

Fleur could hear movements and shuffling in the kitchen. Soon she could make out her father's and sister's muffled voices. But through the floor, she could not make out distinct words. Fleur strained as she heard another voice and followed by another, one male and one female, both familiar and distinguished, but before she could fully make out their voices she drifted back asleep. When she woke sometime later, it was once again silent downstairs.

Tentatively, Fleur once again pressed her fingers against the bruise, trying to see if it was still there. And then, upon establishing that yes, it was still there, she slowly, carefully began exploring her face, trying to determine, to map out its exact size and shape. But no matter how hard she pressed, she could not get a clear sense of the bruise except that it hurt and that half her face was now sore from her ministrations. She wanted, longed to see her bruise clearly, how it inhabited her face, how it marred her features.

But she had no mirror by her bed—why would she when she had a full length mirror in her closest door? After all, she was never as vain as many supposed. However now, with the closest door closed, this posed a problem. However her bedroom was not large. Surely the distance between her bed and her closet was still surmountable.

Fleur sat up, carefully plotting a way from here to there. If she was careful there would only be a few steps she would have to take unaided. She was still strong enough to manage that surely. And maybe, since she would already be at her closet, she could find a change of clothes. It had been two days after all. Clean clothes seemed a marvel, a luxury but she could not quite concede to the idea of letting someone else dress her. At least not yet.

She pulled herself out from underneath her duvet and slid down to the edge of the bed. Resting heavily on the banister of her bed frame, Fleur pulled herself up into a standing position. Her legs trembled underneath her own weight and she felt slightly lightheaded. She closed her eyes and waited for it to pass as she clung tightly to her bed, trying to keep her mind blank. When her eyes opened, it was with a strengthened resolve.

She would make it to the closest.

Her hand remained on the bedpost for support as she took two small, tentative steps. She felt the carpet underneath her toes with quiet pleasure. Removing her hand, she took the few steps unaided, her legs shaking more and more with each step. She practically lunged for the closest door, and leaned up against it for support, catching her breath, before pushing it open, the mirror exposed. This action nearly knocking herself off balance, but she recovered before pulling herself in front of the mirror.

And what she saw, she wished she hadn't. Her face, while not dominated by the bruise… A dark black eye, clothing askew, hair a tangled mess, greatly in need of a shower. Eyes puffy, she did not remember crying but looking back, she was sure she had. If possible it appeared as if she had lost more weight. Always on the skinny side, her bones no longer seemed shy about revealing themselves, jutting out brashly and seemingly resenting her sickly pale skin for containing them.

Her fatigue and the sight in front of her were too much for her. It was if the wind was knocked out of her and she slid down to her knees, yet she was unable to tear her eyes away at what she had let herself become. Never had the phrase looking like death felt so fitting. Desperately she tugged at a few clothes hanging in the closest, the action a minor distraction. The garments fell down by the fistfuls until she was panting and most of her closet was bare. She began shifting through the piles of clothes trying to find something to cover herself up in, something clean, something decent, something comforting. Finally settling on a garment, she ripped her old one off with trembling fingers and struggled to shimmy into the new nightgown. The buttons lent focus and a frustration to her life, gave purpose to her shaking fingers.

Once clothed, a harder task than she had anticipated, Fleur was faced with returning to bed. And this was when Fleur learned that even the proud must crawl back to their beds sometimes.

She was leaning up against the bed frame, catching her ragged breath before figuring out how to pull herself back into bed, when the door opened. Expecting her Mother with breakfast, she was surprised to see Parvati.

"Fleur, I…" Parvati started, her eyes betraying her shock and surprise. And knowing what she knew now, not just about her actions but her appearance, Fleur knew why and could barely blame her. (But blame herself, Fleur could.)

"Parvati," Fleur tried to smile, trying to hide her bruised face with her hair. "What a surprise. Do you not have class? My class actually?"

"Didn't seem like much use when not even the professor bothered to show up." The girl shrugged. "Snape has been substituting for you, at least he did yesterday. But today it's a free period to study for the NEWTs," Parvati's eyes danced back and forth from Fleur, not sure if it was ok to look at her, not comfortable with what she saw when she did.

"Seems like a good use of time," Fleur stated, trying to seem some semblance of fine but knowing full well she looked otherwise. "They are coming up, are they not, and not the easiest of tests if I remember accurately."

"Fleur, are you… are you alright? Hermione said…"

"Hermione said what?"

"She told us, me and Lav, what happened."

Fleur looked away, biting her lip, accidentally showing the full bruise to Parvati. "Then why are you here, if you know?"

"Look, Fleur, she said—"

"Parvati," Fleur interrupted. "If you are here solely as her messenger then…" She shook her head. "It was, I am unforgivable in my actions. I know this. Please, allow me some peace."

"I'm not a messenger, I swear. She doesn't even know I'm here. I came to see you. On my own."

"I wish you had not," Fleur spoke quietly, instantly regretting her words the moment she saw the hurt strike across the younger girl's face. "This is not the state I prefer to receive visitors."

"How… how are you?" Parvati took a step into the room.

"Preparing to swim the English Channel... not well," Fleur leaned her head back, her eyes roaming upwards towards the ceiling. "I have been not well for some time, as I am sure you are aware. And now, I am mostly out of time." But before Parvati could respond, she smiled softly with a pained sadness. And this smile, for whatever reason, whisked the words from Parvati. And it was not the silence Fleur had been hoping for, but it was silence just the same.

Torn, Fleur wanted to get back into bed, into her comfort zone, but she knew doing so would be a struggle, something she did not want the other girl to see. But did not sitting on the floor draped at the edge of one's bed also appear odd and unequally unsettling? Finally, her need to return to bed won. She struggled, shakily, grasping at the frame, the sheets, what strength she had left to pull herself up and on to her bed.

Without a word Parvati crossed the room and with a warm, steady hand helped Fleur to stand. An unspoken trust and understanding passed between them. Fleur was suddenly overcome with feeling grateful for the chance to become Parvati's friend and saddened that the friendship would apparently be so short-lived.

Still leaning heavily against the younger girl, Fleur took the step needed to make it to the bed before allowing herself to slide as gracefully as possible back down onto her bed. (Which was not graceful in the slightest.) Maneuvering her body underneath the duvet, Fleur watched as Parvati pulled the duvet back over her.

"Is there anything I can…" Parvati started.

"No, thank you. Despite this awful state… I am happy you came." Fleur patted the bed beside her. "Please, sit. I apologize if I… am less than presentable." She smiled embarrassed.

Parvati nodded before sitting down. "I can't stay long. I have Transfiguration next and McGonagall is a stickler about tardiness, especially with Gryffindors."

To this Fleur nodded and the two friends returned to silence, unsure of what to say next.

"Your sister is sitting outside, but she won't come in," Parvati started. "She doesn't seem the most friendly…"

"I know she is. I doubt she will come in, at least not… It is something she does. She did it after the tournament as well. I did not return to my country in the most favorable condition then either, I am afraid. Perhaps a bit similar to this." But not so similar. Now was worse, far worse. "She is actually a rather sweet girl when you get past the bravado and pride."

"Similar to you then." Parvati nodded gravely. "What happened with Hermione?" The question jumped from Parvati's lips abruptly, as if she had been thinking it but had promised, had been trying her best to not actually ask it.

Fleur slowly inhaled and exhaled, showing no sign of wishing to speak.

"I mean, I know what happened. Hermione told us. I meant more like, why. You see, look, I know you probably don't want to hear it but Luna has this theory."

"Luna?" Fleur looked at Parvati, her tone sounding just as surprised and confused as she felt. Was Wednesday night common knowledge to the entire school?

"She thinks that it's linked to your withdrawal from that elixir you were taking."

"The Nun's Potion." Fleur corrected, mildly horrified.

"Exactly. She supposes that even though you were only taking it for a short time, in your weakened state, well, considering your condition… Hermione said that you were experiencing some withdrawal symptoms earlier. And Luna thinks that what happened was part of that."

Fleur reddened. How much of her private life with Hermione had been actually private?

"We're her friends, Fleur. She doesn't tell us everything, but it helps, you know, to talk to someone, especially after… She was in a right state when she came back the other night. You can't keep that stuff in, you know. And we wouldn't let her. Anyway, sometimes withdrawal causes a rebound so that whatever symptoms you were trying to treat temporarily actually come back worse than before. We hear about it all the time at the apothecary. And since you were taking the Nun's Potion to, well, curb your desires, it sort of makes sense that that happened, you know?" Parvati started out slowly, her words picking up speed and nervousness, before finally reaching to a halt.

Fleur opened her mouth to respond and found that there were no words.

"Fleur, she's not mad. But she's worried. We all are."

"I don't know if I forgive myself," Fleur admitted, but even found herself wavering slightly. Was it really just part of her withdrawal? But blaming her actions on the Nun's Potion would only be avoiding taking responsibilities for her own actions. (Forcing her self to realize the serious consequences of her poor decision.)

"Look, Fleur, she loves you. And she's worried. She's hasn't gone to class since… she's barely eaten, and I doubt she's been sleeping. All she does is try to get in touch with you. She refuses to leave the library until they kick her out. I swear she borrowed Harry's cloak last night and returned when no one was there. She says you put this barrier around the house, she can't figure it out but she's trying. She won't stop trying. She needs to see you. Please, Fleur."

* * *

After Parvati left, Fleur was lost to her thoughts. Her decision and her resolve were shaken. But she was not left alone long before the door handle turned, the nauseating smell of breakfast already wafting in ahead of her mother. Quickly Fleur closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

"Fleur," her Mother whispered softly.

Feigning slowly awaking, Fleur peeked her eye open to see that the breakfast tray perched on her nightstand and her mother once again sitting by her bedside.

Fleur tried to smile, tried to perch herself up. Her arms trembled though and before she could protest, Apolline helped to prop a pillow behind her to help her remain upright. "I go months at a time without seeing you and then, behold my luck, I wake up twice in one morning and both times to your face." She tried to remain cheery and pleasant, the stubborn pride of the sick. (The stubborn pride of Fleur.)

"Can you eat?" Apolline motioned her head to the tray of food. Fleur regarded it with hesitation. "Towards the end, Anuk was not…"

"A few minutes, perhaps, to wake up," Fleur forced a smile.

Apolline reached for the second cup on the tray and blew on it, quietly watchful on her firstborn. "Fleur, what happened?" Apolline spoke after a moment. "Hermione was vague, at best, in her owl. Which frankly is quite frightening in itself."

Fleur rolled her head away, not sure what to say. The truth, would it really help at a time like this? Weren't they past the truth? "I did not hear her." As she spoke, Fleur reached up again and gently pressed the bruise on her face. It was tender, more so than she remembered. But then everything was starting to become hazy around the edges.

"Fleur," Apolline placed her teacup down with a click and exhaled. There was a large strain to her voice as if she did not know what to say or where to begin, as if every syllable, every second was painful to her. Her words shifted into Veela as the pain became unbearable to Fleur's ears. It was from watching her mother, after all, where Fleur learned to smile dazzling, winningly no matter the situation. But now her mother's words sounded as if they verged on breaking in half. Her composure gone. And it was Fleur who had done to that to her, who had brought her mother to such a state. "I have been trying so hard to figure out how this is all happening again. It feels like before, like yesterday, sitting here, literally waiting and hoping as Anuk... and now you… I cannot comprehend how this happens. Laurent, perhaps, the war… but not now, Fleur. How is it happening now? What happened? You have a bruise on your face, a barrier around the house specifically geared towards Hermione. I never thought her to be like Laurent, she seemed so sweet but I suppose so did he at first. Did she hurt you? Did she abuse the ritual in any way...?"

"No, Mother," Fleur responded in French. " _I_  hurt her.  _I_ abused the ritual. I shifted, I went too… I am protecting her. From me."

For a moment, Apolline was silent, her face churning through several levels of confusion. Apolline struggled. "From you?"

"I shifted, the other night, when we were together," Fleur dropped her gaze, unable to look at her mother in the eyes she spoke. "I did not hear her when she said wait, when she said no. I lost control. I… She had to hit me to… to get me to hear."

Apolline's face contorted with fear that clearly wrote over the worry, a fear marked with a great level of displeasure, sadness. And when she spoke, it was again in Veela, anger and frustration crackling through her words. "Have I failed so much as a Mother that you would do this?" Fleur opened her mouth, but Apolline shot her a look. "Are you really so ashamed of being a veela that this would happen?"

Fleur bit her lip and looked down, not sure how to respond, whatever she had been planning to say was now lost.

"Please tell me, Fleur, how has your courtship ritual become this difficult? What delicate complications are we not seeing?" The hurt and anger suddenly burst forth, cascading down Fleur's ear. Her words almost begging despite it all. "Anuk died, Fleur. She's dead. I lost my sister because of the war and what it does to people. And my ritual?" Fleur opened her mouth again. "No. You let me finish. Tristan was with Isabelle. There was a war. That weakness you have been feeling? I felt it too. But what I never felt and what Anuk never felt was shame."

Fleur gripped the sheets in her hand, the piece of Hermione's shirt balled up in her fist, resigned to her mother's words.

"Fleur, I do not understand. I just do not understand." Apolline's words, her desperation taking a softer edge. "Here, you have a beautiful, wonderful woman who loves you, who wants to be with you despite how exhaustingly impossible you've been for months. Yet you continually push her away. Do you enjoy your self destructive nature, are you satisfied in some way by actively trying to ruin your own happiness? I have never heard of a veela ruining her own courtship ritual before. As a mother, I always thought you were special but not like this. Right now you are throwing your own life away for absolutely nothing. That girl still loves you. She wants to be with you."

"I went too far, I…" Fleur started, once again in French to her mother's Veela, both women stubborn in their chosen language.

"You did, you did go too far, but only because you've been repressing yourself for so damn long. Unforgivable as such things are, especially to veela, it is still nothing you cannot fix if your chosen wishes it and Hermione seems like she does," Apolline pinched her nose, trying to breathe in such a way that might soothe her temper. "Emotions fuels the veela within us, you should know that. And if you've existed on feelings of doubt with what and who you are, then what form do you expect to take, Fleur? Our veela side is what we make it, a reflection of what is in our hearts but also what we see our hearts to be." Apolline swallowed, her voice trembling. "Did I ever give you a reason to feel that being veela is something to be ashamed of? Is that what caused you to take that form?"

"No, I…"

"Then why, Fleur, why all of this?" And when Apolline's voice broke again, it was not in anger but in tears. "You deny the ritual, you deny yourself, you deny your family, you deny who you are to the point of… you won't even speak in Veela to me now! You only repress yourself, voluntarily making yourself sicker and sicker with that useless and foolish potion. Don't look so surprised and don't deny it. I found that tome of family spells while cleaning your kitchen and the page with that potion was dog-eared." There was a quiet violence to her voice, as if daring her daughter to protest further. "Why? What am I missing here Fleur? How have you learned to fear yourself so much?"

But when Fleur said nothing, could find no words in French, in English, in Veela her mother… Fleur had rarely ever seen a tear in her Mother's eye. But now the older woman was sobbing, her chest heaving in and out with ragged breaths.

"Apolline," Tristan opened the door. "I heard…" But whatever Tristan heard, what he saw was his wife hunched in a ball, crying uncontrollably and his daughter looking on with a pained and confused expression. He crossed the room and gathered Apolline up in his arms. "Falling in love with someone, needing them and letting them into your life completely is not a sign of weakness, Fleur. Loving someone and letting them love you is one of the scariest things in life but ultimately it can also be one of the most rewarding. It is a form of bravery to love someone and let them in completely," Tristan spoke softly, trying to soothe both women. "Come on, Apolline. Let's make you a fresh cup of tea. Fleur needs some time."

"She doesn't have much," Apolline whispered as her husband helped her to her feet and started to leave the stunned and silent Fleur behind. At the door, Apolline turned around. "Maybe you think you are protecting Hermione. But I am no longer tolerating this self-destructive and spoiled behavior. I am taking down your barrier. If Hermione comes back again, it will be up to her, it will be her decision as much as yours. She deserves that much."

Fleur looked down, unable to protest, unable to speak as Apolline's words reverberating throughout her body.

"I should have taken it down immediately," Apolline had a cutting edge of finality to her voice. "But I admit, it was only until this morning that Dumbledore and I were able to figure out exactly what barriers you had put up. I would say that I was proud of your ability and cunning, but… not like this, no. It is only devastating."

And as the door shut, Fleur was left alone to her mother's words still hanging in the air, taking turns dive-bombing her mind. And Fleur ducked, still just as scared as she ever was before. Scared of so many things. Of being weak. Of not being good enough for Hermione. Of just how much she loved Hermione, as if it was the love itself, and not being (ashamed of being a) veela, that was killing her. She was scared of what it meant to be veela. Of what it meant to love someone for the rest of your life. Of what it meant to be gay. She was only twenty, what did she know about long-term relationships, of commitment? But Fleur did not, would never want to be with anyone else. This she knew, it was part and parcel of being a veela.

But would Hermione? What if Hermione could never trust her again? What if Hermione stopped loving her, what if her eyes roamed towards another? What if when they finished growing up they were different people than they thought they were and Hermione resented her for the commitment she was forced into at such a young age. She and Hermione, they were still only children after all.

And she was so spoiled and had messed everything up so completely already. And the future, it held so many what ifs that it felt at times as if it would strangle her with all the possibilities. If she messed up now, she could mess up again. How many times did Hermione have it in her to forgive Fleur?

* * *

Darkness shown in through the window alerting Fleur that it was night once more. After the episode with her mother, her family had left her alone to sleep, to marinate, to soak and suffer through all their words spoken to her in the last forty-eight hours.

The din downstairs immediately brought Fleur's attention to the present reality. At first she was sure that she was still dreaming, she wouldn't let herself believe otherwise. She pressed her fingers to her bruise, the familiar pain washed across her face. She was awake.

And if that was indeed true, then it meant that Hermione was downstairs calling her name.


	37. Ampersand

As the night crept in past the windows, Fleur awoke amidst her soft sheets to the all too familiar exhaustion. Only vaguely aware of the muffled conversation downstairs, she was about to roll over and try to fall back to sleep when she heard her voice. That voice clawed up the staircase before invading her room, prying her eyes open and fully returning Fleur to the land the living. And then the voice was gone, as if she had never really actually heard it.

And even in its brevity, the silence was painfully deafening, drawn out as Fleur strained in her bed under the weight of anticipation. She tried to hear what would happen next, wondering if there was anything left to hear at all.

The sound of footsteps came slowly to her ears. They gained speed coming up the stairs, almost reaching a run before reaching an abrupt stop at her bedroom door. As the door was flung open, instinctually, defensively Fleur shut her eyes in an effort to feign sleep to the unknown onlooker. For what if it was Hermione? For what if it was not? Softer now, the footsteps finally stopped at the edge of her bed. Her heart beat so loudly, louder even than the footsteps perhaps. She feared the loudness of her heart would give her away.

"Fleur?" Hermione's voice was soft and tentative as if torn between wanting to wake her up and letting her sleep, wondering, perhaps, if Fleur would even, could even wake up.

And still her eyes remained closed. Fleur could not bear the look on Hermione's face, somehow knowing that it would only shatter her. But more importantly she could not bear it if Hermione was not actually there. If she opened her eyes to realize that this was all a final, desperate trick of her mind...

The silence was filled with a soft sound of rustling as the fallen pillow, Hermione's pillow, was returned to its (rightful) place on the bed. The bed shifted slightly under the Gryffindor's weight as she sat down. Fleur could almost feel Hermione's eyes on her and Fleur knew how she must look to the brunette. But perhaps Hermione was looking at the floor, her hands, her feet, the dresser, where the wall met the ceiling. Anywhere but Fleur's matted hair, the bruise consuming almost half of her face, her fist tightly (tenderly) gripping the piece of Hermione's ripped shirt.

"Fleur, I…" Hermione began again, her voice cracking through the silence. Her finger lightly tracing the air above Fleur's bruise, for a moment hovering too close and lightly grazing the skin below Fleur's swollen eye. "I did that." And exhale, a sigh. "I freaked out, I got scared and… and you changed so suddenly. So fast, really. But I don't…" Her pause seemed to fill the entire room, deafening Fleur's ears. "I love you, Fleur. I love you so much that it hurts. It hurts me how much you… because all I want to do is be with you and you just, you're just so far away. Even before the Nun's Potion… The closer I try to get to you, the more defenses you put up. And I was startled that night. It was, we were going so fast but only because we hadn't been going anywhere for so long... It's not that I didn't, that I don't, because I did. I do." And then for emphasis, again. "I do. So very much. But when you shifted it was all so fast, I just wasn't expecting it. And then you didn't listen. Why didn't you listen to me when I said your name? When I said stop?" The pain in Hermione's voice was so different from, so similar to, that night. "Damn it Fleur. I wish you'd wake up."

Fleur's eyes almost opened when she felt a strand of hair being tucked behind her ear. But some how she thought opening her eyes would complicate Hermione's words and she so badly needed to hear what Hermione so badly needed to say. And maybe by then Fleur would finally know her own reply.

"Luna and Parvati have this theory that it was part of your withdrawal from the Nun's Potion. There is some truth in that, obviously, but I also think it's because you've been, and I'm not sure why exactly, but I know you, Fleur. You've been so caught up in trying not to rush me, in being the perfect gentleman, that you haven't been paying attention. You haven't even realized that I'm ready. That I've been ready for while. I want this, Fleur. I want you more than I've wanted anything in my life." Even without opening her eyes, Fleur could imagine the determined, the loving expression on Hermione's face. But if she opened her eyes, would Hermione still be sitting there, looking at her like that? "But sometimes, I don't know, I wonder about you, about us. For better or worse, I can't see myself living without you. And I wish you'd just… you'd just open your eyes and let me tell you this. For Merlin's sake, I love you so much it hurts and I don't want it to hurt anymore. And I need you to help me not make us hurt so much anymore. So if you die on me and leave me here alone like this, I am going to hex your soul to oblivion."

Fleur's eyes cracked open slowly, light pouring in, the backlit blur quickly refining into a seventeen year-old girl sitting nervously at the edge of her bed, loving her. Fleur longed, wished, needed to reach up and touch her, even lightly with the tip of her fingers. To feel the warmth of her skin, to see if she could some how wipe away all the worry, sadness and frustration that Fleur had managed to carelessly cause. But for the moment, she could only smile weakly. Her voice escaping from her softly, a scratchy whisper of waking up. "Logically, it might be a bit complicated, hexing my soul to oblivion after I die. Though I do have the highest regard for your magical ability and persistence."

"Fleur!" Hermione gasped before diving down and enveloping Fleur in a hug, gripping her body desperately. Slowly, Fleur brought her arms up and around the other girl, cherishing the familiar warmth. "How are you?"

"You're here," Fleur observed, a smile clinging to her face. Her voice still nearly a whisper, as if a louder sound could blow the entire moment away.

"No thanks to you!" Hermione broke apart from their embrace, glaring down at the Frenchwoman. "How dare you. You don't respond to the parchment. You burned the port key. You burned  _Hogwarts, A History_. My book, Fleur, and you burned it. Needlessly. And that barrier! If it wasn't for Dumbledore and your Mother and then Gabrielle dragging me out of the library, I'd still be at Hogwarts worrying and you'd still be…. For Merlin's sake Fleur, how dare you! What were you thinking?"

Fleur bit her lip. "I…" Her eyes strayed to the corner of the room where they intended to stay. "What I did… I am unforgivable."

"What happened on Wednesday was miscommunication and over-reaction. No, what's not forgivable is that infernal boundary you had up!"

"I always said that they were my specialty," Fleur began weakly. She wanted to sit up.

"I mean the physical wall was frustrating beyond measure." There was an unshakeable exhaustion to Hermione's voice. "But the one you have here," Hermione gently placed her hand flat out against Fleur's chest. "I don't know what martyr complex you have or where it came from, but it has stop and it has to stop now. You have to realize that you're not alone. You have me, you have the girl now. You've had her for a while. So turn the page and move on with the story already. After you have the girl, well, we figure things out together. But you have to be brave and let me in, really let me in." There was a hard resolution to Hermione's voice. Fleur opened her mouth to protest but Hermione glared. "No. It's your choice. You can either go it alone until you… and if you honestly don't think you can let me in, I am getting up now and walking out. And I'll come back for your funeral utterly broken. Or you can finally actually let me in and save us both from a lot of unnecessary pain. But you have to let me know and you have to let me know now. I only have the strength for you to say no to me for a few moments longer."

"I know that I have been unfair, that I have been incredibly selfish," Fleur began, trembling as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I have been so scared of so many things and made so many mistakes. I honestly do not know if I deserve you."

"Stop it!" Hermione pleaded, demanded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Just stop it," a whisper. "If only you knew how impossible you were… I love you. And all I need right now is for you to love me back. In a way that isn't just some rubbish form of self-martyrdom. I mean, really love me. Can you do that?"

"You are an example of everything I… you are my everything," Fleur's words were soft and shy. "And somewhere along the way, I lost the plot and I ruined things. I made mistakes, I damaged our relationship, our trust. I am beyond sorry. I am still trying to understand what it means to be genuinely happy. But I want to understand how and I believe that I can. With you, I think I can."

For a moment the two women simply regarded each other. And then Fleur shifted so they were closer to eye to eye, so that they were closer, their faces only centimeters apart. It was here that Fleur had to remind herself to breathe.

"What are you doing?" Hermione's words, a soft whisper, were felt more as warm breath against Fleur's face than as words in her ear. A tear was forming in her eyes, a smile threatening to overcome her features, shaking free from whatever unreadable expression on Hermione's face.

"Letting you in, like I should have long ago." Using both arms to brace herself, Fleur leaned in and closed the distance between their two bodies. It started out shy, soft, tender, hesitant. Hermione whispered that this still did not mean that she forgave Fleur before biting her lower lip, claiming it as her own. But it deepened. Even as the hunger, the need, the desire grew within her, creeping, marching, attacking and slipping past her skin, Fleur's arms shook underneath her own weight. Carefully, lovingly Hermione led Fleur back down onto the bed.

And as much as she wanted it, as much as Fleur loved, craved, and needed Hermione's touch, she suddenly knew that they had to stop and they had to stop now. It was not out of lack of desire or her not being ready or her fear of the loss of control. No. It was a matter of strength, something Fleur clearly lacked in that moment. It was exhausting to merely move into her lover's touch. Slowly she pulled away, placing a finger on her lover's lips.

"There are no words which could express how much I want you right now and always but I can't, not tonight."

And the groan of frustration that erupted from Hermione's lips seemed to fill the room. Hermione instantly sat up pulling herself up and away from Fleur. "Merlin Fleur! You haven't changed. You say you are going to let me in and then minutes later you're still pulling away just as before. Is this is how it's always going to be, because honestly I don't have the strength for this."

"Neither do I," Fleur sighed. "That's what I'm trying to say."

Hermione looked at her, confused, searching Fleur's face.

"I physically don't…" Fleur bit her lip. "I stopped taking my potion. I doubt I can stand on my own right now, let alone… anything else." Fleur's cheeks reddened as she bit her bottom lip. "Besides I haven't bathed since, well, and my teeth, they haven't been brushed for days. I want so much more for you, for us than what I am able to offer at that this moment." Fleur exhaled, scared, frightened that this, of all things, would cause her to lose Hermione. "But you have no idea how much I want, how much I wish…"

"So what, what do you mean?" Tears streaming down Hermione's eyes. "That it's too late? It's too late and you're… Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"No," Fleur reached out and tried to catch a tear on her finger. "Nothing like that. I need a dose, is all, my last one. And a bath and my toothbrush maybe. A night besides you and then… I promise you with every fiber of my being. I am not pushing you away. I just doubt my ability to handle any… physicality tonight. I'm telling you exactly how weak I feel and trust me Hermione, you have no idea how much it scares me to do so. But there will be a tomorrow, I promise you."

* * *

It was a slow, and at times, painful process even with Hermione's help and the potion. Fleur had never imagined her life drifting to the point where walking down the hall to the bathroom would be a surprisingly excruciating ordeal. Resting on the floor and leaning up against the cool bathroom wall, Fleur looked up silently as her girlfriend ran the bath water, carefully checking the temperature periodically with her hand. Once satisfied with the depth and temperature, Hermione turned the taps off before standing up from where she was crouching before the bathtub. She raised her arms above her head and effortlessly lifted off her own shirt. She placed it off to the side neatly before unbuttoning and slipping out of her pants. Shyly. While she and Fleur had been sharing a bed since Christmas, the two had yet to see each other naked. It has always been something they had been shy about, blushing, gentlemanly peering in the other direction at the proper moments. Changing carefully in front of the other or waiting until the other was out of the room.

"The tub is big enough for the both of us," Hermione noted by way of explanation, her arms hooked behind her back as she undid her bra. And it was, Fleur had to admit, a rather large tub. But her attention was not on the tub. Hermione shed her bra with ease, one strap at a time before placing it on the top of the growing pile of Hermione's clothes. Underwear finally shed, kicked self-consciously off onto the top of the pile, Hermione made her way over to Fleur.

Not taking her eyes off Hermione's body, Fleur felt even more ashamed of the haggard state of her own physique, the pale thinness that had claimed her at first only bit by bit and then more aggressively over the past few days. She draped her arm across her chest almost as if to protect herself. (From what?)

Hermione arched an eyebrow as she bent down to her girlfriend. "Come on now, you're not about to tell me that veelas take baths fully clothed."

"The French, actually, saves us time on doing our laundry," Fleur smirked, but withdrawing her hand from across her chest just the same.

"Luckily for me, we're in England and in England we do our washing separately like civilized people." Hermione smiled shyly as she crouched down in front of her girlfriend and began to undress her with tender concentration. She slipped the nightgown off, careful to graze Fleur's skin lovingly with her fingertips. And when the nightgown was removed, Hermione continued to kneel in front Fleur's sitting figure, the garment in hand. The two women were silent, overly aware of each other's nakedness. Blushing, eyes averting shyly in between lovingly, curiously exploring. And then they laughed, a quiet, nervous, but comfortable laugh.

"Come on, let's get you washed up. I love you dearly, but you are right, you are beginning to smell," Hermione slipped her arm back under Fleur's in order to help her to stand up and make her way over to the claw foot bathtub. Skin against skin, it was the first time that nothing but air remained between their two bodies.

For the most part, they shared the tub silently as if the slightest word would send the moment toppling over onto itself. Instead of speaking, Hermione concentrated on scrubbing skin, massaging and rinsing out shampoo and conditioner. As the water rinsed the shampoo away, Fleur was careful not to confuse ablutions with absolution. But when Hermione poured the warm water over her head, after warning Fleur to close her eyes, it was easy to confuse the two, the shampoo with her mistakes, her frailties and her stubborn loneliness. Even if she felt reborn in that moment, she knew that she was still the same Fleur, her sins no closer to being forgiven. But to pretend gave her strength and consoled her as Hermione's fingers moved across her scalp. The Frenchwomanleur leaned back, tipping her face upwards she caught Hermione's lips within her own. Tender, forgiving, hungry, nervous.

They lingered in the tub longer than necessary, their fingers pruning until the water turned cold. Hermione dried Fleur off with such a surprising thoroughness. She had never before taken the time to specifically dry the undersides of her breasts. Though part of Fleur suspected that this was not something Hermione usually did either.

And when both were dried, towels wrapped around their bodies, Hermione traced the air above Fleur's bruise with her finger, as if silently disappointed that it too did not wash away. In response, Fleur silently placed her palm flat against Hermione's chest, right above her beating heart, and nodded, not quite sure exactly what she was saying but needing to say it nonetheless.

And then to sleep.

And oh to sleep in a lover's arms, cradled in her warmth. Hermione clung to Fleur's sleeping form as if even in her slumber there was a fear of her slipping through the brunette's fingers. But Fleur was where she intended to stay.

Though sleep came quickly, Fleur awoke throughout the night. Each time to the fear of an empty bed, and drifting off again with the warm assurance of Hermione's arms around her.

* * *

 

By morning, their bodies had shifted so now it was Fleur who was holding the younger woman's body within her own. As she had countless mornings before, she tried once again to synch her breathing with the brunette's. And like so many mornings before, she could not.

She shifted slightly to kiss Hermione's neck, then her cheek and her eyelids. At first it wasn't so much of a kiss as an astonishment, a relief. Her lips melting against the other girl's skin. An attempt to not wake the slumbering, peaceful brunette. But what started out as one thing quickly grew into another, lingering longer and longer. Causing Hermione to stir, turning over to face Fleur with a contented, sleep smile.

"Mm, morning breath," Hermione opened her eyes slightly after meeting Fleur's lip in a kiss.

"You must be mistaken," Fleur protested, her mind elsewhere, her mind focused on how Hermione's nightshirt had slipped in the night.

"You have morning breath and I want to wake up to it every morning," Hermione opened her eyes completely, searching out and finding, locking onto Fleur's, her tone becoming suddenly serious.

"Perhaps I will wake up a few minutes before you, slip out to brush my teeth merely to spite you," Fleur spoke, her fingers tracing the hem of Hermione's neckline.

"We both know you're not that much of a morning person," Hermione grinned.

For a moment the two women, lying on their sides in each other's arms, merely looked at each other. Their eyes dipping in and out of each other's gaze. Hermione bit her lip.

Fleur traced the edge of Hermione's face. "It's only because I find it infinitely impossible to leave any bed that you are in. This is something, by the way, that I am not willing to work on. There are others, however, that yes I am willing to work on."

"Such as?"

"Opening up to you, letting you in more, and to not be so bloody impossible as you English say. However, I can only be me. And while that is not an excuse for me not to change, there are limits. I am afraid that I will tragically always be a bit bloody impossible. However I am willing to try to be less so." Fleur's finger traced the underside of Hermione's bottom lip. "But also kissing you more. I want to work on that." And with that, she captured the brunette's lips. The tenderness quickly melted away to reveal her hunger, her lust for what it was, which Hermione returned in favor, opening her mouth, letting Fleur in. Groaning when Fleur's hand slid up, over, down and beneath her nightshirt. "And maybe more than just merely kissing…" Fleur whispered as she moved her attention back to Hermione's neck, suddenly filled with the want, the need to bite her lover's neck slightly.

Fleur knew that she had to initiate. And not because Hermione would not, could not. No, in fact the Gryffindor was more than capable and willing. And if Fleur let her, Hermione would and would do so happily. But Fleur knew that it should be her, and not out of some narcissistic self-importance or need to be in control. She knew it had to be her because of how she pulled away so many times before. Hermione needed her to show that she wanted her. Not only wanted, but craved, longed, desired.

Fleur's lips searched for the world in Hermione's embrace. She slowly maneuvered her body far enough away to start unbuttoning her own nightgown. Too shy to start the action on Hermione, but wanting to illustrate where she was headed. Hermione's hand covered her own, stopping Fleur. Fleur looked up, blinking, before Hermione's fingers took up where her own had stopped. Not waiting for her own garment to be slid off her shoulders, Fleur turned her attention to undressing Hermione.

Forward. Their bodies crashed, skin against skin, hearts pounding rapidly against chests rising and falling against each other.

And if only it was enough, but it was never enough. Each and every touch, graze, movement of tongue and finger only made Fleur want more, need more. And she made it up as she went along, guided by desire, by instinct, by love, by Hermione's looks and touches. Underwear was shimmied off, left forgotten amidst the sheets or on the floor.

Hermione slid on top of Fleur. Fleur who arched upwards, needing to be closer, always closer. And as intoxicating as it was to be beneath her lover, her necklace dangling and tracing patterns on her skin, Fleur knew for now it would not do. Shifting her weight slightly, she led Hermione back down onto the bed as she took control. Straddling Hermione, for a moment Fleur looked down at the other woman who looked up at her with so much love, so much trust.

The room was silent apart from their breathing, a gasp, a moan, an occasionally nervous, awkward laughter. Lips, necks, hands, breasts, hips. Repositioning their bodies, their hips crashing, moving into and against each other. But still not enough, Fleur's hand slid down, nails grazing flesh, pausing. Fleur looked up, hunting for that one final signal of approval. But Hermione's eyes were closed.

"Look at me," came out more of a question, a request that Fleur was sure she had only breathed until Hermione's eyes fluttered open.

Hermione's eyes flickered open among ragged breaths.

And Fleur made it up as she went along, exploring the strange, new wonderful territory at her fingertips, intoxicating to the touch, at the touch. An awkward shyness, a willingness to move past it sometimes erupting in nervous laughter. And she had never felt a sensation similar to how it was to be inside Hermione, the warmth, the wetness, the closeness. Perhaps even more than kissing her lover, Fleur could see how it could become addictive.

From the corner of her eye she could see the necklace, the charm begin the glow. And she could almost feel, as if in ghost sensation… Imagined, anticipated, felt empathetically, Fleur had no time or mental ability to discern how or why. But as her hand moved along Hermione, she felt it too, distantly, within herself in a manner impossible to describe. Surprised at the sensation, Fleur paused. Stunned, so this is what it was to be a veela in love. But Hermione found Fleur's hand and guided her, holding her there despite the pain they both felt. Fleur holding still as possible, waiting for it to go away, trying to kiss it away until it finally did.

What a maddening, trembling world they had discovered where nothing was enough. There was always something more, to be shared, to be felt, to find, to discover. And how this world shook over, under, through them. Words long forgotten, control slipping, falling away in droves, only gasps and moans, the shifting of weights and body filled the room threatening to flood past, louder and louder with more urgency.

And after the deluge, breath and senses had to be recaptured. Chests rising and falling. Minds still struggling when Hermione propped herself up, silently regarding Fleur for a moment. Her finger on top of Fleur's lips as if to quiet any words that might find their way to the surface before sliding on top on Fleur. As if surveying the land, her land in front of her, Hermione grinned a lazy smile before capturing Fleur's breast within her mouth.

Hermione's lips traveled downward, nipping and lingering as they chose first one breast then the next, moving her attention to Fleur's stomach, hip bone, inner thigh and then…

And then Fleur's breath hitched, her body arching up and into the touch, the overwhelming sensation. Her hand caught in the morning tangles of Hermione's hair. Her body caught on Hermione's tongue, her fingers. And when Hermione looked up, surprised, Fleur felt a warmth that what she had felt earlier was not reserved for her alone. Hermione could feel as she had felt. So this was the all-encompassing love of a veela. Forward. And now again everything she had felt only moments before, but directly, under Hermione's touch and guidance. At times it was too much, and other times not enough. Maddening, addicting.

* * *

They lay still. Remembering to breath, hands lazily tracing each other's bodies with love and quiet astonishment. Hermione's hand held out her necklace, the charm having stopped glowing at some unnoticed point. The color now entirely different than any either had ever seen. Words were poised on her lips, but neither seemed to want to speak. So Fleur leaned forward and took the words from Hermione's lips carefully with her tongue, and moved the conversation back and forth between their lips. Faintly, with a strange sense of pleasure, Fleur realized that the taste on Hermione's lip was herself. She liked how she tasted on her lover's lips and had the rest of her life to tell Hermione this. Fleur marveled at this.

The hunger was there and Fleur knew that the hunger would probably always be there. But the deadly urgency had slipped from it and Fleur knew in time this hunger would probably change shape as the nature of their relationship evolved. Pulling apart from the embrace, her eyes quietly regarding Hermione, returning a stray hair back behind Hermione's ear, Fleur realized that this was only the beginning. The courtship ritual was only the beginning. They had the rest of their lives together. This love that had scared her to the thick of her being was anything but frightening in the end.

Somewhere in the Delacour family tree, an ampersand was forming between her name and Hermione's.

* * *

An hour later, still naked and entwined, the two women showed no intention of getting out of bed. For the most part, words were slow coming. At times they kissed or tucked a stray hair out of one's face. But mostly they laid there, in each other's arms, enjoying the warmth, the sensation. Absorbed, stunned by what they had just experienced, the two lovers only realized the door opening too late.

"Ew," Gabrielle closed her eyes and looked away, her hands covering her eyes as she stood in the doorway. "I thought you'd be done being gross by now. Clearly not, perverts."

As Gabrielle spoke, Hermione moved closer against Fleur, shielding her front from the younger girl as Fleur desperately grasped for the duvet to cover their exposed bodies. While Gabrielle had seen Fleur naked before, it had been years ago and in entirely different circumstances. This was not okay.

"You were the one who entered without knocking," Hermione retorted before Fleur could open her mouth. "You knew exactly what I was coming up here to do."

"Yeah, that was last night. It's half past one in the afternoon now," Gabrielle whined, her eyes still tightly shut, her cheeks still burning brightly with embarrassment.

"I can't help it if your sister is a bit on the slow side," Hermione teased.

Fleur swatted at Hermione playfully. "I thought you liked how I value patience."

"Not that much patience," Hermione shot her a look.

"You two just don't stop being gross ever, do you?" Gabrielle muttered. "Whatever. Lunch is ready. Mom made sandwiches. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic that you have descended to a new level of gross. However I hope that you haven't ruined my appetite because I am going downstairs now and I fully intend on eating my sandwich like a real person and maybe even try to persuade Mom and Dad to let me stay out of school a bit longer. Actually maybe your two staying in bed would actually help my case…"

* * *

Fleur attentively followed Hermione up the long, endless flights of stairs. It was a staircase that had always intrigued her, captured her intense curiosity nearly to the point of a haunting obsession, but it had also been a staircase that she had avidly avoided since arriving to Hogwarts. Until now. And the Fat Lady was nothing like Fleur had imagined her. 

After the courtship ritual, Fleur's strength had returned to her in droves. The natural grace she had been feigning and forcing, returned as if it had never left. So this was what it felt like to be happy and healthy, nowhere near as scary as Fleur had made it out to be.

Even the Hogwarts community was aware of these changes, and not just in Fleur. How could they not? Even if they had not been aware of how exhausted Fleur truly was, they were now presented with a far more energetic version. As time wore on, neither Fleur nor Hermione became that successful in hiding the desire, the loving looks becoming less secretive every day.

So it was only truly the parents who looked surprised and shocked at the Hogwarts graduation ceremony when, after receiving her diploma, the Head Girl had embraced the beautiful, French professor in a demonstration of affection that far surpassed mere excitement over graduation. But even if only a portion of those gathered that day were shocked, everyone watched. It was hard not to watch the couple's first open display of affection since their kiss in the crowded hallway. Unlike the first time, it was Hermione who had initiated it, Fleur who was shocked before returning the gesture, who opened her mouth willingly letting her lover in. No one ran off upset. Thomas Granger only turned to Lucy to shake his head at the grandiose display, wondering if it was really all that entirely necessary.

After the ceremony, it was the congratulations, the goodbyes, and trying to balance both worlds of one's family and one's life that for the past seven years was lived apart from one's family. It was exhausting, both speeding by and dragging on. The sun was threatening to set when Fleur and Hermione had both finally successfully pulled away to head back into Hogwarts Castle. In the morning, they, along with the rest of the students and a few of the teachers, would be leaving. Hand in hand with Hermione's parents walking slightly behind, Hermione had led them up to her dormitory, her home away from home since she was eleven.

Fleur walked with growing excitement as they came closer. Even after they had performed the ritual, she had stayed away, always curious but feeling that it would break the last taboo. But now that Hermione graduated, it was as if all the restrictions had finally melted away. Formalities no longer had to be observed as they technically no longer applied.

Lucy and Thomas waited in the common room, talking awkwardly with Parvati's mother, giving the couple privacy as the two headed upstairs.

Alone in Hermione's private Head Girl room, Fleur quietly examined the four poster bed, the books scattered on the floor, and the photos of Hermione's friends, of Fleur on the nightstand.

"This isn't exactly how it looked, I started to pack even though I promised not to," Hermione muttered shyly, kicking a crumpled up piece of paper across the floor. "And it was cleaner before finals."

Fleur sat down on the bed, testing its softness, its bounce, her hands feeling the maroon colored curtains. The room had been smaller than the one she would have had her final year at Beauxbatons if she had not gone to the tournament, but it was also larger than she had assumed the Hogwarts dorms to be. But just as drafty though. "I like it. It even smells like you." And it was true, hints of the girl's shampoo, the perfume she occasionally wore clung to the air. How long, Fleur wondered, would the scent linger after Hermione was gone?

Hermione took a seat beside Fleur, their hands instinctually becoming intertwined. Fleur smiled peacefully and used her free hand to trace the side of Hermione's face. "Your room is lovely." But they both knew she wasn't talking about the room before Fleur captured her lips. It was meant to be a quick kiss, but like so many before it quickly evolved.

"You need to pack," Fleur protested as Hermione moved her attentions towards her neck. The younger girl had been delighted when Fleur stopped bruising so easily, and had begun to experiment on how much she could now get away with.

"There is a spell for that," Hermione murmured, her lips following the neckline of Fleur's dress.

"Your parents are downstairs," Fleur tried again, aware of how weak her voice sounded, as Hermione began unbuttoning Fleur's dress.

"They're talking with Parvati's mother, who, believe me, never stops talking," Hermione's hand traced up Fleur's side, smiling at Fleur's reaction to her touch. "Please. I always wanted…"

But Fleur never needed much persuading, not in the end. Not when she realized that there was nothing to be scared of. So she only protested playfully for a moment longer as Hermione undid the fasteners of her bra.

Even as she was being lowered down onto the bed, Fleur was aware there was so much more that had to be done. The air, in the way, was bittersweet with that. While Fleur had always known what Hogwarts had meant to Hermione—far more than Fleur had cared about Beauxbatons—she had never really seen exactly to what degree until that day. Leaving Hogwarts, living without Hogwarts to return to in the same way, Fleur knew, would be hard for Hermione. Even if the walls of Hogwarts that had restricted them, kept them in such separate lives, had also fallen. Tomorrow they started their life together, truly, and it was a thrilling, frightening thought.

They were moving to France for the time being, into one of her parent's smaller properties until they could get more settled, more on their own feet. Hermione should be starting her new post at the Ministry. A honeymoon of sorts, though currently being planned, would have to wait. And then there was something else threatening their happiness, and the happiness of the entire Wizarding world, something they had avoided speaking directly about. Something Fleur only now brought up as she re-buttoned her dress, watching her lover now frantically cast packing spells.

"The ceremonies, they do not truly mean anything. They can wait," Fleur started, her words causing Hermione to pause.

"What?"

"This summer, I do not believe that there is time for it, not with everything you need to do," Fleur stood up.

"What are you talking about? I am taking the summer off."

"And you should use it wisely. We both know that you do not take summers off." The war, despite their wishing, loomed above them all, casting first a subtle and then increasingly larger shadow over everything. "I know that Harry is planning something, something he is looking for to lay the final blow. And that you and Ron plan to go with him, to help him and be by his side when the time comes."

"Fleur, I—"

"No. Your place is there. He needs you, your friends need you. It would not be right otherwise." (You would not be the woman Fleur loved otherwise.)

"But what about…?" Hermione took a step forward, her face showing a mixture of emotion, hesitation. "I don't want to leave you behind, waiting."

"Who said anything about waiting?" Fleur arched her eyebrow, wrapping her arms around Hermione's waist. "Your place is with your friends, but my place is at your side. And you would be a fool to believe that I would stay at home, twiddling my thumbs waiting while you go off to war, especially not when protection and defensive spells are my specialty. No. I fully intend on fighting by your side. Do you think I cultivated my skills out of pure interest and curiosity? I have always intended on using my talents to fight for and protect the ones that I love. And this, my love, is not an option."

"Fleur…" Hermione regarded her carefully examining her with her eyes before capturing her lips. This was a conversation they would take up later, but they both knew that Fleur would not take no for an answer.

But all that didn't matter now. All that mattered at that moment was that Hermione was kissing her. Like a normal, young couple in love. No potions, no sickness, no anxiety, no fear of death or rejection. The courtship ritual was over. The war, it was true, would not, could not wait for them. But for the first time in three years, Fleur did not have to pretend to smile. She no longer had to pretend so many things. Fleur had never felt so at peace in her entire life. But it was only the beginning and they had so far to go. The moment, after all, could not last forever.

 

The Beginning.


End file.
